The hero is one who kindles a great light in the world, who sets up blazing torches in the dark streets of life for men to see by. The saint is the man who walks through the dark paths of the world, himself a light.
A God of fire is the only one there is. Our God is not like an iceberg but like a forest fire. He is never compared to the moon with its cool glow but rather to the sun, radiating warmth. He dwells in the light of the rising sun. Whatever he does shines brightly and is carried out with burning desire and a blazing purpose.
The shining. It was a good name, a comforting name, because she had always thought of it as a dark thing.
It's so important, so comforting, to have lampposts in this world who can light the way.
I'll be the light in the window.
My father's passing comes with sorrow and grief for me, for my mother, for my brothers, and for my sisters. He was a great fire who burned bright, and we lived in his light and warmth for so very long.
More than anything, one is struck by the light. Light everywhere. Brightness everywhere. Everywhere, the sun.
That's what people are who have that impact on us. They are ahead of their time. They can't help it. They get put into a small, frail body, and they are given a light that is much too bright for that cavity.
You're my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other.
Fiery and sweet, all at the same time. A flame in the dark, lighting my way.
By her shining and her power he knew her.
When it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me.
