"Where on earth are you going?” Zula asked, looking about for him. But she had lost him in the radiant fog. His voice was clear, though. It was the only sound in the world. "I'm not entirely sure,” he admitted. "But I'm done here. I did what I was sent to do.” The golden light grew until it was all she could see, and his voice was heard no more.
Neal StephensonRelated topics
clear done earth fog golden light looking lost see sent sound sure voiceRelated quotes
No one will ever be closer to you than your parents. And no one's heart will ache for you as much as a parent's does. Father and Mother are the only ones who care about you more than anything else in the world, the only ones who truly love you. In the world, many things can be found again, but you can't find another Father or another Mother. Parents sacrifice themselves, lighting our path...
Ephraim of Arizona
The Animals, you say, were "sent"
For man's free use and nutriment.
Pray, then, inform me, and be candid,
Why came they aeons before Man did,
To spend long centuries on earth,
Awaiting their Devourer's birth?
Those ill-timed chattels, sent from Heaven,
Were, sure, the maddest gift e'er given-
"Sent" for Man's usage (can Man believe it?)
When there was no Man to receive it!
Henry Stephens Salt
Night comes down and finds you alone
In a space and time of your own,
Lost in dreams in a world full of shadows.Down the street the neon light shines,
Offering refuge and hope to the blind,
Who stumble in with no thought of tomorrow.Yes I get lonely when the sun gets low,
And I end up looking for some winner goal.
Yes I should know better but I can't say no.
Gerry Rafferty
The reason we have the stars twinkle at night is because the light is being kind of blurred by the atmosphere around the Earth. That is why the Hubble Space Telescope is so good, because it is above the atmosphere. So it is kind of like looking at the sun from the bottom of a swimming pool, versus looking at the sun above the swimming pool.
Michael J. Massimino
It was a still afternoon--the golden light was lingering languidly among the upper boughs, only glancing down here and there on the purple pathway and its edge of faintly sprinkled moss an afternoon in which destiny disguises her cold awful face behind a hazy radiant veil, encloses us in warm downy wings, and poisons us with violet-scented breath.
George Eliot