Noons Quotes & Sayings

I used to work in a factory and I was really happy because I could daydream all day. — Ian Curtis

I count my time by times that I meet thee;
These are my yesterdays, my morrows, noons,
And nights, these are my old moons and my new moons.
Slow fly the hours, fast the hours flee,
If thou art far from or art near to me:
If thou art far, the bird's tunes are no tunes;
If thou art near, the wintry days are Junes. — Richard Watson Gilder

That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain. — Ray Bradbury

I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever. Your leg, my leg, your arm, my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again. — Charles Bukowski

Gluttony and surfeiting are no proper occasions for thanksgiving. — Charles Lamb

Common sense tells us that the government's attempts to solve large problems more often create new ones. Common sense also tells us that a top-down, one-size-fits-all plan will not improve the workings of a nationwide health-care system that accounts for one-sixth of our economy. — Sarah Palin

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:
A quality of loss
Affecting our content. — Emily Dickinson

I am a working woman with a secret life: I keep house. — Cheryl Mendelson

Beyond the tilled plain, beyond the toy roofs, there would be a low suffusion of inutile loveliness, a low sun in a platinum haze with a warm, peeled-peach tinge pervading the upper edge of a two-dimensional, dove-grey cloud fusing with the distant amorous mist. there might be a line of spaced trees silhouetted against the horizon, and hot still noons above a wilderness of clover, and claude lorrain clouds inscribed remotely into misty azure with only their cumulus part conscpicuous against the neutral swoon of the background. or again, it might be a stern el greco horizon, pregnant with inky rain, and a passing glimpse of some mummy-necked farmer, and all around alternating strips of quick-silverish water and harsh green corn, the whole arrangement opening like a fan, somewhere in kansas. — Vladimir Nabokov

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. — Natalie Babbitt

And pray what more can a reasonable man desire, in peaceful times, in ordinary noons, than a sufficient number of ears of green sweet corn boiled, with the addition of salt? — Henry David Thoreau

Lose this battle so we can win the war. — Olivia

Do not belong to the past dawns,but to the noons of future — Sri Aurobindo

Beauty, midnight, vision dies: Let the winds of dawn that blow Softly round your dreaming head Such a day of welcome show Eye and knocking heart may bless, Find our mortal world enough; Noons of dryness find you fed By the involuntary powers, Nights of insult let you pass Watched by every human love. — W. H. Auden

O sun, heart of the heavens whose blood of light
Infuses the vigor which transmutes to azure
The black ice strangler of great space obscure
I hate you, mask of gold, mist and fire, circular
Blind monster blinding all the prey around
You who veil the impure dazzling phantasm
To the loving vertigo of my avid gazes
The visions of the colorless abyss of the void
Reversed hollow truth-mask of the other world. — Roger Gilbert-Lecomte

Many solemn nights
Blond moon, we stand and marvel...
Sleeping our noons away — Basho Matsuo

Tex would introduce himself to every goo-green kid who joined the squad, every piece of farm-fresh. He'd put his arm around their shoulder, tell them his life story, his real name, ask them all about their hometowns, so that even those nearby had to learn shit we'd rather not. We'd get hit by these frag grenades of nicety. He took people in, Tex. Got close to them. Cried like a baby when the smoke cleared and the tags were tallied. And I thought he was fucking crazy, going about war like that. Not learning what the rest of us learned. — Hugh Howey

Long drawn, the cool, green shadows
Steal o'er the lake's warm breast,
And the ancient silence follows
The burning sun to rest. The calm of a thousand summers,
And dreams of countless Junes,
Return when the lake-wind murmurs
Through golden August noons. — William Braithwaite

Summer quiet thoughts on summer quiet noons. — Ray Bradbury

The first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for. — Natalie Babbitt