A Quote by Phoebe Cary
Do we call the star lost that is hidden / In the great light of morn?
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I am not yours, nor lost in you, not lost, although I long to be. Lost as a candle lit at noon, lost as a snowflake in the sea. You love me, and I find you still a spirit beautiful and bright, yet I am I, who long to be lost as a light is lost in light.
A traveller, lost on a desert plain, feels that the recognition of one star, the Pole star, is of itself a great acquisition.
Your mind is made up of light. We call it the dharmakaya, the clear light of reality. The transcendental eternal light is everywhere. It's the light of god or whatever you want to call it.
On the light of Liberty you saw arise the light of Peace, like "another morn," "Risen on mid-noon;" and the sky on which you closed your eye was cloudless.
The truth is not a bidimensional thing; it's not flat. It's rounded; it's like a sphere, so there's always a hidden face. There's one that is revealed because there's light reflecting on it, but there's always a hidden one, and once you go around to see the hidden one, it moves, and that's life.
Star canto: star speaks light, and world to world
Repeats the passage of the universe
To God; the name of Christ--the one great word
Well worth all languages in earth or heaven.
The eastern light our spires touch at morning, The light that slants upon our western doors at evening, The twilight over stagnant pools at batflight, Moon light and star light, owl and moth light, Glow-worm glowlight on a grassblade. O Light Invisible, we worship Thee!
Think of a star. A star burns its very substance to give light to others. You need to be like a star.
How does the light of a star set out and plunge into black eternity in its immortal course? The star dies, but the light never dies; such also is the cry of freedom.
Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
Dawn's faint breath breathes with your mouth at the ends of empty streets. Gray light your eyes, sweet drops of dawn on dark hills. Your steps and breath like the wind of dawn smother houses. The city shudders, Stones exhale— you are life, an awakening. Star lost in the light of dawn, trill of the breeze, warmth, breath— the night is done. You are light and morning.
When you call me close to tell me your body is not beautiful I want to summon the eyes and hidden mouths of stone and light and water to testify against you.
Morn, Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.
Sometimes readers want some escapist fun, to get lost in the story. But light-hearted romantic stories can and should star all kinds of girls.
And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.
I was really uncomfortable with fame. I mean, it's lovely and flattering, and you enjoy all the razzmatazz and being flown around, but when people suddenly call you a star, you think, 'I'm not a star, I'm just playing a star role.'
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