Late Afternoon Quotes - Page 2

• Imagine you are walking down a leafy path...The sun is receding, and you are walking alone, caressed by the breezy light of the late afternoon. Then suddenly, you feel a large drop on your right arm. Is it raining? You look up. The sky is still deceptively sunny...seconds later another drop. Then, with the sun still perched in the sky, you are drenched in a shower of rain. This is how memories invade me, abruptly and unexpectedly.

  Azar Nafisi

  Memories, Rain, Light

  Azar Nafisi (2003). “Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books”, p.59, Random House

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• I didn't know what to think, but what I felt was magnetic and so big it ached like the moon had entered my chest and filled it up. The only think I could compare it to was the feeling I got one time when I walked from the peach stand and saw the sun spreading across the late afternoon, setting the top of the orchard on fire while darkness collected underneath. Silence had hovered over my head, beauty multiplying in the air, the trees so transparent I felt like I could see through to something pure inside them. My chest ached then, too, this very same way.

  Sue Monk Kidd

  Moon, Thinking, Air

  "The Secret Life of Bees". Book by Sue Monk Kidd, November 8, 2001.

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• What can you do if you are thirty and, turning the corner of your own street, you are overcome, suddenly, by a feeling of bliss - absolute bliss - as though you'd suddenly swallowed a bright piece of that late afternoon sun and it burned in your bosom, sending out a little shower of sparks into every particle into every finger and toe?

  Katherine Mansfield

  Feelings, Overcoming, Pieces

  Katherine Mansfield (2016). “KATHERINE MANSFIELD – The Ultimate Short Stories & Poetry Collection: 100+ Titles in One Volume (Literature Classics Series): Prelude, Bliss, At the Bay, The Garden Party, A Birthday, Poems at the Villa Pauline, Child Verses and many more”, p.7, e-artnow

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• I've lived my life like a serial killer; finish with one part, strangle it and move on to the next. Life in neat little boxes is life in neat little coffins, the dead bodies of the past laid out side by side. I am discovering, now, in the late afternoon of the day, that the dead still speak.

  Jeanette Winterson

  Moving, Past, Serial Killer

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• First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They were not love letters, but Lieutenant Cross was hoping, so he kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rusack. In the late afternoon, after a day's march, he would dig his foxhole, wash his hands under a canteen, unwrap the letters, hold them with the tips of his fingers, and spend the last hour of light pretending.

  Tim O'Brien

  Girl, College, Light

  Tim O'Brien (2009). “The Things They Carried”, p.1, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Walking the streets of Charleston in the late afternoons of August was like walking through gauze or inhaling damaged silk.

  Pat Conroy

  August, Afternoon, Late

  Pat Conroy (2010). “The Lords of Discipline: A Novel”, p.20, Open Road Media

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• She sat down on one of her grandmother's uncomfortable armchairs, and the cat sprang up into her lap and made itself comfortable. The light that came through the picture window was daylight, real golden late-afternoon daylight, not a white mist light. The sky was a robin's-egg blue, and Coraline could see trees and, beyond the trees, green hills, which faded on the horizon into purples and grays. The sky had never seemed so sky, the world had never seemed so world ... Nothing, she thought, had ever been so interesting.

  Neil Gaiman

  Real, Cat, Grandmother

  Neil Gaiman (2012). “Coraline”, p.162, A&C Black

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