Margaret Deland Quotes

I am very fond of sunsets. Come, let us go look at a sunset.

Just as the setting sun turned the clouds to liquid gold.

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.

The sun was slowly setting in the west, casting golden beams of light into the somber old room.

...So let us welcome peaceful evening in.

Sunset is the saddest light there is.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And touching all the darksome woods with light, Smiles on the fields until they laugh and sing, Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring, Drops down into the night.

It was the Magic Hour, the moment in time when every leaf and blade of grass seemed to separate, when sunlight, burnished by the rain and softened by the coming night, gave the world an impossibly beautiful glow.

Outside, daylight was bleeding slowly toward dusk.

It was early evening when they walked outside, the sky the color of pink lemonade.

Twilight fell: The sky turned to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars.

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!

the redness had seeped from the day and night was arranging herself around us. Cooling things down, staining and dyeing the evening purple and blue black.

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.

The sky slowly pulled up its blue dress to reveal night.

The sun was a toddler insistently refusing to go to bed: It was past eight thirty and still light.

I could smell the curves of the river beyond the dusk and I saw the last light supine and tranquil upon tideflats like pieces of broken mirror, then beyond them lights began in the pale clear air, trembling a little like butterflies hovering a long way off.

In that dilated moment after sunset when the sky holds all the light.

The sacred lamp of day Now dipt in Western clouds his parting day.

The moment of twilight is simply beautiful.

I’ve always felt that night doesn’t fall. Night rises.

Dusk was falling quickly. It was just after 7 P.M., and the month was October.

To me at least was never evening yet, but seemed far beautifuller than its day.

The approach of night The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.