Ae Sun Quotes

How clear, how lovely bright, How beautiful to sight Those beams of morning play; How heaven laughs out with glee Where, like a bird set free, Up from the eastern sea Soars the delightful day. To-day I shall be strong, No more shall yield to wrong, Shall squander life no more; Days lost, I know not how, I shall retrieve them now; Now I shall keep the vow I never kept before. Ensanguining the skies How heavily it dies Into the west away; Past touch and sight and sound Not further to be found, How hopeless under ground Falls the remorseful day.

June suns, you cannot store them To warm the winter's cold, The lad that hopes for heaven Shall fill his mouth with mould.

And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance but trouble's sure, I'd face it as a wise man would, And train for ill and not for good.

This was in [Orwell's] 1946 'Politics and the English Language,' an essay that despite its date (and its title's basic redundancy) remains the definitive SNOOT statement on Academese. Orwell's famous AE translation of the gorgeous 'I saw under the sun that the race is not to the swift' in Ecclesiastes as 'Objective consideration of contemporary phenomena compels the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must invariably be taken into account' should be tattooed on the left wrist of every grad student in the anglophone world.

You took my empty dreams And filled them every one With tenderness and nobleness, April and the sun. The old empty dreams Where my thoughts would throng Ae far too full of happiness To even hold a song. Oh, the empty dreams were dim And the empty dreams were wide, They were sweet and shadowy houses Where my thoughts could hide.

Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle, Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong. Think rather,--call to thought, if now you grieve a little, The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long. Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn; Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me, in days ere I was born. Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason, I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun. Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation; All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain: Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation-- Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again?

You're a ray of bright light in my very dark world, Ric. It's like when I step outside and take my sunglasses off to let the sun shine on my face. It gets a little lighter in here.' Pres gently tapped his pointer finger against his temple. 'When I'm in my office ..... there's no light. When I'm in my bedroom alone ..... there's no light. When I sit in my bedroom alone ..... there's no light. When I sit in my kitchen, eating my very carefully prepared meal - for one - there's no light. But when I'm around you, wrapped in your arms, kissing you, laughing with you, making love to you, everything's do damn bright ..... like sunshine.

The Earth is nothing but phlegm spat out by the Sun, and our immediate solar system a whirlwind of boulders. There is no "delicate balance".

You’re right…” My eyes snap to his. “I don’t want you… I need you.” He steps in front of me, his daring brown eyes meet mine. “A want is fleeting—optional—while a need is how the moon needs the sun to shine. You’re a need for me, Risa.

And then there was the loving letter from my loving mother that I carry next to my heart.” Ernest took his billfold from his hip pocket and extracted a tattered slip of paper that he read from: “‘Ernest, I have received the inscribed copy of The Sun Also Rises, which you sent to me. Although as your Mother, I am pleased to hear that it is selling well, you have the doubtful honor of having produced one of the filthiest books of the year. Surely you must know some other words besides damn and bitch. I love you dear and still believe you will do something worthwhile to live after you.

VIII 'Farewell to barn and stack and tree, Farewell to Severn shore. Terence, look your last at me, For I come home no more. 'The sun burns on the half-mown hill, By now the blood is dried; And Maurice amongst the hay lies still And my knife is in his side. 'My mother thinks us long away; 'Tis time the field were mown. She had two sons at rising day, To-night she'll be alone. 'And here's a bloody hand to shake, And oh, man, here's good-bye; We'll sweat no more on scythe and rake, My blood hands and I. 'I wish you strength to bring you pride, And a love to keep you clean, And I wish you luck, come Lammastide, At racing on the green. 'Long for me the rick will wait, And long will wait the fold, And long will stand the empty plate, And dinner will be cold.' IX On moonlit heath and lonesome bank The sheep beside me graze; And yon the gallows used to clank Fast by the four cross ways. A careless shepherd once would keep The flocks by moonlight there, And high amongst the glimmering sheep The dead man stood on air. They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail: The whistles blow forlorn. And trains all night groan on the rail To men that die at morn. There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail to-night, Or wakes, as may betide, A better lad, if things went right, Than most that sleep outside. And naked to the hangman's noose The morning clocks will ring A neck God made for other use Than strangling in a string. And sharp the link of life will snap, And dead on air will stand Heels that held up as straight a chap As treads upon the land. So here I'll watch the night and wait To see the morning shine, When he will hear the stroke of eight And not the stroke of nine; And wish my friend as sound a sleep As lads' I did not know, That shepherded the moonlit sheep A hundred years ago.

The investigation described in the subsequent pages bears close relation to three sciences. It was approached by the author from the standpoint of astronomy and a desire to understand the variations of the sun. It was hoped that these variations could be more accurately studied by correlation with climatic phenomena. But the science of meteorology is still comparatively new and supplies us only with a few decades of records on which to base our conclusions. So botanical aid was sought in order to extend our knowledge of weather changes over hundreds and even thousands of years by making use of the dependence of the annual rings of trees in dry climates on the annual rainfall. If the relationship sought proves to be real, the rings in the trunks of trees give us not only a means of studying climatic changes through long periods of years, but perhaps also of tracing changes in solar activity during the same time. Thus astronomy, meteorology, and botany join in a study to which each contributes essential parts and from which, it is hoped, each may gain a small measure of benefit.

Aiden was taught about the old world, the ways in which his ancestors and their nations lived. In those ‘grandest times’ it seemed Outside was valued highly, that great attention was lavished upon the sun, and the air, and movement. There were tales of people running in circles, fighting in the open air, crowds choosing to watch. He’d thought such sport nonsense, the idea of participating in vast collectives in the Outside ridiculous enough, but even the idea that one might take such a thing as ‘a walk’, that there was a better use of time than spending it with the height human accomplishment, surrounded by fine and beautiful possessions, rich jewellery and glorious illustration, with the writings of generations for comfort, had seemed purest idiocy. Imagine, he had thought, Outside having as much to offer as Inside. Imagine it having any point at all. Oh, he thought, how those people of the past placed false treasure in the powers of sun, and of sky. Oh, how they underestimated true wealth: the jewels of the earth, hewn and sculpted and sanded into glittering lumps of perfection.

The environmentalist notion about a “Mother Earth” or “delicate balance in nature” is no more sophisticated or based on empirical evidence than is a belief in the “Garden of Eden”. All evidence points to a violently chaotic universe, where our “Mother Earth” is nothing buy a piece of phlegm spat out and being whirled around by our Sun. We are at the mercy of whatever catastrophe is unleashed upon our little piece of Sun hocker, and by no means living in some utopian conception of Eden.

Michaels writhed and twisted underneath Judge’s weight. He let him soothe him a few more moments before he unclenched his ass and breathed in deep. This time Judge didn’t ram his way back in, he took his time and eased back through his channel, and Michaels felt every ridge and vein in his cock. “Is that better?” Judged breathed. “Was that too much dick for you before?” Oh, man. The terms of endearment, the sweet nasty talk. What was going on? It felt intimate as hell. Loving, even. Judge’s pace was slow and sensual. They were connected all over, so close he could feel Judge’s powerful heartbeat. “S’good, s’good,” Judge murmured in his ear. One big arm around his chest, his thumb tenderly stroking Michaels’ nipple. “Yeah, babe. It’s good.” Michaels turned and whispered against Judge’s cheek. Loving the way he turned into the touch, just a little. It wasn’t a kiss but they were getting closer and closer. Neither one of them said anymore. Only moans and whimpers could be heard as they gave each other what they both needed. Judge sensed that Michaels’ body wasn’t wanting fast and punishing. He needed relaxing and reassuring, and that’s exactly what Judge gave him. Until the sun came up and reminded them they were there to do a job and split… not fall in love.

It’ll be two weeks of sun and healthy doses of my husband. Absolute bliss.

The second one is of him looking up at me, and there’s a look of undeniable happiness on our faces. The final picture is of us in silhouette, kissing with the sun setting behind us.

the matador Cayetano Ordoñez, who in the Twenties fought under the name Niña de la Palma; Cayetano and Ernest had been good friends and he had been the prototype for Pedro Romero, Lady Brett’s matador-lover, in The Sun Also Rises.

Ernest had identified Cayetano as the prototype for Pedro Romero in The Sun Also Rises.

Grief was like the sun, Jael realised. You could never escape it. It kept rising, no matter how many times you thought it had gone away.

Orwell’s famous AE translation of the gorgeous “I saw under the sun that the race is not to the swift” part of Ecclesiastes as “Objective consideration of contemporary phenomena compels the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must invariably be taken into account

To the men, darkness made no difference. The Space Beagle crouched on a vast plain of jagged metal. Every porthole shed light. Great searchlights poured added illumination on rows of engines that were tearing enormous holes into the all-iron world. At the beginning, the iron was fed into a single manufacturing machine, which turned out unstable iron torpedoes at the rate of one every minute, and immediately launched them into space. By dawn of the next morning, the manufacturing machine itself began to be manufactured, and additional robot feeders poured raw iron into each new unit. Soon, a hundred, then thousands of manufacturing machines were turning out those slim, dark torpedoes. In ever greater numbers they soared into the surrounding night, scattering their radioactive substance to every side. For thirty thousand years those torpedoes would shed their destroying atoms. They were designed to remain within the gravitational field of their galaxy, but never to fall on a planet or into a sun.

The metal walls of the freighter grew red, then white-hot, but the creature, unaffected, continued its slow transformation into gray mass. Vague thought came to the thing, realization that it was time to act. Suddenly, it was floating free of the ship, falling slowly, heavily, as if somehow the gravitation of Earth had no serious effect upon it. A minute distortion in its electrons started it falling faster, as in some alien way it suddenly became more allergic to gravity. The Earth was green below; and in the dim distance a gorgeous and tremendous city of spires and massive buildings glittered in the sinking Sun. The thing slowed, and drifted like a falling leaf in a breeze toward the still-distant Earth.

Pain is temporary. Like a storm, it passes, and the sun brings light and hope again. You mustn’t give up in the midst of a storm. Hold on, for I promise, everything will change, and you’ll feel differently in a day or a week or a month.

The beautiful, bold gold lettering spelling out Enchanted Rose Co. comes into view, glinting in the afternoon sun. Large silver buckets of various flowers sit in front of the shop with a sign that reads “Flower Bar. Build Your Own Bouquet.” and prices hang off the front of each bucket.