When each day is the same as the next, it’s because people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives every day that the sun rises.
The sun rises every day. What is to love? Lock the sun in a box. Force the sun to overcome adversity in order to rise. Then we will cheer! I will often admire beautiful sunrise, but I will never consider the sun a champion for having risen.
Spurious fame spreads from tongue to tongue like the fog of the early dawn before the sun rises.
Life is tragic simply because the earth turns and the sun inexorably rises and sets, and one day, for each of us, the sun will go down for the last, last time.
The flower fades and dies; but he who wears the flower has not to mourn for it for ever.
Important days don't look like anything special when they start. Invariably, the sun rises and people wake up. Coffee is swilled and eggs are swallowed. Everybody goes about the business of acting like their lives matter and then, no matter how important the events of the day end up being, the sun invariably sets. The sun rose before the soldiers stormed Omaha Beach on D-Day, and the sun set after Archduke Franz Ferdinand was killed. Sunrises and sunsets are real jerks about putting things in perspective.
The dawning of the light of awareness is the new birth, where the sun rises and the day breaks within you.
The sun himself is weak when he first rises, and gathers strength and courage as the day gets on.
No one can go back, but everyone can go forward. And tommorow, when the Sun rises, all you will have to say to yourself is: I am going to think of this day as the first day of my life.
Please, amigo. We need you, Kimosabe, O Mighty Powerful One. We need you more than the earth rises in the west." The sun rises in the east, dickhead." Only if you're standing on the earth. If you're on the moon, the earth rises in the west.
The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies, With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies, When love is done.
I toyed briefly with an image someone once mentioned to me, of a village in the shadow of a twin-peaked mountain. In the morning the sun rises. At lunch it sets behind the mountain. In the early afternoon it rises once more. The cocks crow for the second time, and later the sun sets again. No. One peak. Metaphors should not be belaboured.
Rest but never quit. Even the sun has a sinking spell each evening. But it always rises the next morning. At sunrise, every soul is born again.
When the sun rises, it rises for everyone.
In every countrey the sun rises in the morning.
[In every country the sun rises in the morning.]
I know I can not paint a flower, I can not paint the sun on the desert on a bright summer morning but maybe in terms of paint colour I can convey to you my experience of the flower or the experience that makes the flower of significance to me at that particular time.