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Dawn Quotes "Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature - the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter."
Itís curious what we take for granted or never even notice. Untold thousands of insects are devoured nightly by our little fury friends, the bats. They emerge at dusk and disappear at dawn, and we are hardly aware of what they have done for us.
Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.
A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.
Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.
For the mind disturbed, the still beauty of dawn is nature's finest balm.
I rise to taste the dawn, and find that love alone will shine today.
In politics, as in poetry, it is sometimes true that it is darkest before dawn.
Let every dawn be to you as the beginning of life, and every setting sun be to you as its close.
The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.
The evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming.
There is no short and easy road, no magic cure for those ills which have afflicted mankind from the dawn of history.
Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come.
These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.
Enlighten the people generally, and tyranny and oppressions of body and mind will vanish like evil spirits at the dawn of day.
Night's darkness is the bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.
How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds,
that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit of the hill? A kiss, and all was said.
Night, like a giant, fills the church, from pavement to roof, and holds dominion through the silent hours. Pale dawn again comes peeping through the windows: and, giving place to day, sees night withdraw into the vaults, and follows it, and drives it out, and hides among the dead.
Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk.
The nearer I approach the end, the clearer I hear around me the immortal symphonies of the worlds which invite me. It is marvelous yet simple. For half a century I have been writing my thoughts in prose, verse, history, drama, romance, tradition, satire, ode and song - I have tried all; but I feel that I have not said a thousandth part of that which is in me. When I go down to the grave I can say like many others, "I have finished my day's work" but I cannot say, "I have finished my life's work"; my day's work will begin the next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley. It is an open thoroughfare. It closes in the twilight to open in the dawn. My work is only beginning; my work is hardly above its foundation. I would gladly see it mounting forever. The thirst for the infinite proves infinity.
I feel within me the future life. I am like a forest that has been razed; the new shoots are stronger and brisker. I shall most certainly rise toward the heavens. The sun's rays bathe my head. The earth gives me its generous sap, but the heavens illuminate me with the reflection of-of worlds unknown. Some say the soul results merely from bodily powers. Why, then, does my soul become brighter when my bodily powers begin to waste away? Winter is above me, but eternal spring is within my heart. I inhale even now the fragrance of lilacs, violets, and roses, just as I did when I was twenty. The nearer my approach to the end, the plainer is the sound of immortal symphonies of worlds which invite me. It is wonderful yet simple. It is a fairy tale; it is history. For half a century I have been writing my thoughts in prose and in verse; history, philosophy, drama, romance, tradition, satire, ode, and song; all of these have I tried. But I feel that I haven't given utterance to the thousandth part of what lies within me. When I go to the grave I can say as others have said, "I have finished my day's work." But I cannot say, "I have finished my life." My day's work will begin again the next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley; it is a thoroughfare. It closes on the twilight, but opens on the dawn.
One rose is enough for the dawn
It's always darkest before the dawn
The next Augustan age will dawn on the other side of the Atlantic. There will, perhaps, be a Thucydides at Boston, a Xenophon at New York, and, in time, a Virgil at Mexico, and a Newton at Peru. At last, some curious traveler from Lima will visit England and give a description of the ruins of St Paul s, like the editions of Balbec and Palmyra.
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