Eleanor Porter Quotes

The sun is a-wait at the ponderous gate of the West.

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.

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.

the blue and cloudless day closes like the lid of a casket of jewels upon the violet rim of sea, and shuts out the light.

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

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

That golden sky, which was the doubly blessed symbol of advancing day and of approaching rest.

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.

Sunset is the saddest light there is.

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.

The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!

Fading light buttered the ridges until shadows licked them clean and they were lost to nightfall.

Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.

...So let us welcome peaceful evening in.

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

Come watch with me the shaft of fire that glows in yonder West; the fair, frail palaces, The fading Alps and archipelagoes and great cloud continents of sunset-seas.

The death-bed of a day, how beautiful!

I hate to see the evening sun go down.

The evening had turned sweet and blue.

Softly the evening came /with the sunset/.

The air grows cool and darkles, The Rhine flows calmly on; The mountain summit sparkles In the light of the setting sun.

After the sunset on the prairie, there are only the stars

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.

Night was coming on in, borrowing the light. It had started out borrowing just a few cents worth of the light, but now it was borrowing thousands of dollars worth of the light every second. The light would soon be gone, the bank closed, the tellers unemployed, the bank president a suicide.