At the evening of our day, we shall be judged by our loving.
The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.
The world gets better every day - then worse again in the evening.
Devote each day to the object then in time and every evening will find something done.
I want to do the right thing, but often I don't know just what the right thing is. Every day I know I have come short of what I would like to have done. Yet as the years pass and I see the very world itself, with its oceans and mountains and plains, as something unfinished, a peculiar little satisfaction hunts out the corners of my heart. Sunsets and evening shadows find me regretful at task's undone, but sleep and the dawn and the air of the morning touch me with freshening hopes. Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.
Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the soft light of the moon, silvering over the evening of life.
Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.
The evening news is a concept whose time has come and gone.
We grow great by dreams. All big men are dreamers. They see things in the soft haze of a spring day or in the red fire of a long winter's evening. Some of us let these great dreams die, but others nourish and protect them; nurse them through bad days till they bring them to the sunshine and light which comes always to those who sincerely hope that their dreams will come true.
Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth.
Autumn glows upon us like a splendid evening; it is the very sunset of the year.
Some enchanted evening, you may see a stranger Across a crowded room.
The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.
Joy descends gently upon us like the evening dew, and does not patter down like a hailstorm.
Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.
Don't give a woman advice; one should never give a woman anything she can't wear in the evening.
It is the evening that questions thus from within me.
In the external scheme of things, shining moments are as brief as the twinkling of an eye, yet such twinklings are what eternity is made of — moments when we human beings can say, “I love you” ... “I'm proud of you” ... “I forgive you” ... “I'm grateful for you” ... “Whether you win anything or not, you still have great value.” That's what eternity is made of: invisible, imperishable good stuff.
The moon glows on the river, wind rustles the pines. Long night clear evening--what are they for?
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering, and deepening at the hour of dews.
O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.
I think I have something tonight that's not quite correct for evening wear. Blue suede shoes.
I like the evening in India, the one magic moment when the sun balances on the rim of the world, and the hush descends, and ten thousand civil servants drift homeward on a river of bicycles, brooding on the Lord Krishna and the cost of living.
Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched.
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