The city of San Francisco engulfed their view through the front windshield. The dazzling light of the late morning sun transformed every glass and metal surface into a silvery mirage.
I'm trying to remember how you tell the time by looking at the sun." -"I should leave it for a while, it's too bright to see the numbers at the moment.
But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others.
Because I see A rainstorm in June Just before the sun The black of night Just before the stars And, girl, I see your ghost Just before our dawn
I know of other mothers who have children with disabilities,and right away they loved them and decided to fight for them. That isn’t my story.
Too much sun after a Syracuse winter does strange things to your head, makes you feel strong, even if you aren't.
However, as words become particularized, and as men begin - in however small a way - to use them in personal, arbitrary ways, so their transformation into art begins.
Scoundrels [...] simply don't die. The ones who die are always the gentle, sweet, and beautiful people. [...] Scoundrels live a long time. The beautiful die young.
Even if Mary gives birth to a child who is not her husband's, if she has a shining pride, they become a holy mother and child.
At times everything grows misty and dark before my eyes, and I feel that the strength of my whole body is oozing away through my finger tips.
She heard him speak, but did not recognise the problem in his voice – only later did she realise it was that thing he’d been concealing – known as guilt.
It is painful for the plant which is myself to live in the atmosphere and light of this world. Somewhere an element is lacking which would permit me to continue.
I would far prefer to be told simply to go and die. It's straightforward. But people almost never say, "Die!" Paltry, prudent hypocrites!
I wonder if there is anyone who is not depraved. A wearisome thought. I want money. Unless I have it.... In my sleep, a natural death!
I make money using my brains and lose money listening to my heart. But in the long run my books balance pretty well.
You felt a deep sorrow, the kind of melancholy you feel when you're in a beautiful place and the sun is going down
Outside, the sun shines. Inside, there’s only darkness. The blackness is hard to describe, as it’s more than symptoms. It’s a nothing that becomes everything there is. And what one sees is only a fraction of the trauma inflicted.
the lesser grindstone stood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red upon it that the sun had never given, and would never take away.
In the moonlight which is always sad, as the light of the sun itself is--as the light called human life is--at its coming and its going.
It was still early, and the sun's lower limb was just free of the hill, his rays, ungenial and peering, addressed the eye rather than the touch as yet.
a voice called out after me, 'life takes us on many divergent paths, and yet we shall meet one more time! Not in the flesh, but in the sun, man's home
