the candle QUOTES

21 " We nurture the candle flames that show the way ahead. We are guerrillas of the word, unsung heroes breathing softly on the embers of the human mind, so that they might re-ignite the hearths around which we once found safe haven. The book is the Light and the Life. "

― Mark Cantrell , Silas Morlock

22 " You should either be like the candle that produces light or you live like mirror which reflects it. Pray for love; Sow love, Show love and Share love! "

― Israelmore Ayivor , Daily Drive 365

23 " There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that refledts it. "

24 " Around three a.m. he feels a presence in the room. He sees, for the pulse of a moment, a figure at the foot of his bed, against the wall or painted onto it perhaps, not quite discernible in the darkness of foliage beyond the candlelight. He mutters something, something he had wanted to say, but there is silence and the slight brown figure, which could be just a night shadow, does not move. A poplar. A man with plumes. A swimming figure. And he would not be so lucky, he thinks, to speak to the young sapper again.
He stays awake in any case this night, to see if the figure moves towards him. Ignoring the tablet that brings painlessness, he will remain awake till the light dies out and the smell of candle smoke drifts into his room and into the girl's room farther down the hall. If the figure turns around there will be paint on his back, where he slammed in grief against the mural of trees. When the candle dies out he will be able to see this.
His hand reaches out slowly and touches his book and returns to his dark chest. Nothing else moves in the room. [298] "

― Michael Ondaatje , The English Patient

25 " They were different colors: the right one blue, the left green. And her face in the light of the candle on the table startled me at first, just as it had in the icy night air. After seeing it on the street, I was afraid I had only imagined it: a still, luminous face with a silvery sheen. Finely hewn, with a long, straight nose and a wide mouth, it was nearly identical to another face, which I had photographed years before. Not on a person, bu on the fragment of a frieze I found in some ruins near Verona, The frieze, which depicted a band of musicians, had once been shadowed beneath a cornice high on the temple of Mercury, god of magic. Belonging to one of the musicians, it was a riveting face - like a puzzle that could not be solved - which I had never found, or expected to find, on a living woman. "

― Nicholas Christopher , Veronica

26 " One evening coming in with a candle I was startled to hear him say a little tremulously, " I am lying here in the dark waiting for death." The light was within a foot of his eyes. I forced myself to murmur, " Oh, nonsense!" and stood over him as if transfixed.Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen before, and hope never to see again. Oh, I wasn't touched. I was fascinated. It was as though a veil had been rent. I saw on that ivory face the expression of sombre pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror - of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision - he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath - " The horror! The horror!" I blew the candle out and left the cabin. The pilgrims were dining in the mess-room, and I took my place opposite the manager, who lifted his eyes to give me a questioning glance, which I successfully ignored. He leaned back, serene, with that peculiar smile of his sealing the unexpressed depths of his meanness. A continuous shower of small flies streamed upon the lamp, upon the cloth, upon our hands and faces. Suddenly the manager's boy put his insolent black head in the doorway, and said in a tone of scathing contempt -" Mistah Kurtz - he dead. "

27 " We are adjured not to burn the candle at both ends.
But how many people have verified that physically possible? "

― Idries Shah , Reflections

28 " Life after 35 should be lit by the flames of passion. Extinguish the fire that burns the candle of your life at both ends. "

― Thorbjörg Hafsteinsdottir , 10 Years Younger in 10 Weeks

29 " There are two ways of spreading light: to be
The candle or the mirror that reflects it. "

― Edith Wharton

30 " And the candle by the light of which she had been reading that book filled with anxieties, deceptions, grief and evil, flared up brighter than ever, lit up for her all that had once been darkness, sputtered, grew dim and went out for ever. "

― Leo Tolstoy , Anna Karenina

31 " Let the romantic minds meet the romantic cities and after that the candle of romanticism shines on earth like a sun! "

32 " Okay," she said as he lit the candle and hummed the birthday song. " You know,this is all very Jake Ryan of you." " Who's Jake Ryan?" " The hottie from Sixteen Candles—the best teenage movie ever made. The last scene looks just like this," she said, looking around the room." All right, well, don't you go wishing for him when you blow out the candle." " I love you,Jace. You're the only thing I want. "

33 " You are at my side, dear friends, and God is everywhere. Yet ultimately we are alone, making our way home by the candle of the heart. The light is steady and sure but extends only far enough to see the next step.
Many times the light seems to go out. But another light, one held by a stranger or friend, a book or a song, a blackbird or a wild flower, comes close enough so that we can see our path by its light. And in time we realize that the light we have borrowed was always our own. "

― Joan Borysenko , A Woman's Journey to God

34 " A distant love that waits to be together, is by far the most difficult relationship. It's like lighting a candle, and adoring the long flame and robust glow. Until time sets in like wax, overflowing deeper and deeper into the wick, leaving a sparse flame struggling to live. This is where most distant relationships fade, with the wax smothering the flame. This kind of relationship takes patience, hope, unconditional love, trust and strength, all centered around God. If the flame endures to the end, and the two come together, only then will it feel as if the candle was tipped and all the wax came pouring out, when the flame is revived, long and glowing again. "

― Anthony Liccione

35 " He lays me on the bed. I say, right before he kisses me again, “If you kiss me again, I’m going to knee you in the balls.”
His hands are incredibly soft, like a cloud touching me.
“I won’t let you just…” He searches for the right word. “…fly away from me, Cassie Sullivan.”
He blows out the candle beside the bed.
I feel his kiss more intensely now, in the darkness of the room where his sister died. In the quiet of the house where his family died. In the stillness of the world where the life we knew before the Arrival died. He tastes my tears before I can feel them. Where there would be tears, his kiss.
“I didn’t save you,” he whispers, lips tickling my eyelashes. “You saved me.”
He repeats it over and over, until we fall asleep pressed against each other, his voice in my ear, my tears in his mouth.
“You saved me. "

― Rick Yancey , The 5th Wave (The 5th Wave, #1)

36 " An eminent philosopher among my friends, who can dignify even your ugly furniture by lifting it into the serene light of science, has shown me this pregnant little fact. Your pierglass or extensive surface of polished steel made to be rubbed by a housemaid, will be minutely and multitudinously scratched in all directions; but place now against it a lighted candle as a centre of illumination, and lo! the scratches will seem to arrange themselves in a fine series of concentric circles round that little sun. It is demonstrable that the scratches are going everywhere impartially, and it is only your candle which produces the flattering illusion of concentric arrangement, its light falling with an exclusive optical selection. These things are a parable. The scratches are events, the candle is the egoism of any party now absent. "

― George Eliot

37 " We don't fall in love with people because they're good people. We fall in love with people whose darkness we recognise. You can fall in love with a person for all of the right reasons, but that kind of love can still fall apart. But when you fall in love with a person because your monsters have found a home in them-- that's the kind of love that owns your skin and bones. Love, I am convinced, is found in the darkness. It is the candle in the night. "

― C. JoyBell C.

38 " A person must always be ready to kindle the candle in their heart and fill the void in their soul by unveiling into a courageous, peaceful, and loving person. "

― , Dead Toad Scrolls

39 " The bleak autumn wind was still blowing, and the solemn, surging moan of it in the wood was dreary and awful to hear through the night silence. Issac felt strangely wakeful. He resolved, as he lay down in bed, to keep the candle alight until he began to grow sleepy; for there was something unendurably depressing in the bare idea of lying awake in the darkness, listening to the dismal, ceaseless moan of the wind in the wood. (" The Dream Woman" ) "

40 " What remains?
Our children?
Homer touched the flame of the candle with his fingers. The answer wasn’t easy to find for him,
Achmed’s words still hurt him. He himself had been damned to be without children, unable for this kind
of immortality, so he couldn’t do anything but choose another path to immortatlity.
Again he reached for his pen.
They can look like us. In their reflection we mirror ourselves in a mysterious way. United with
those we had loved. In their gestures, in their mimics we happily find ourselves or with sorrow.
Friends confirm that our sons and daughters are just like us. Maybe that gives us a certain
extension of ourselves when we are no more.
We ourselves weren’t the first. We have been made from countless copies that have been
before us, just another chimera, always half from our fathers and mothers who are again the half of
their parents. So is there nothing unique in us but are we just an endless mixture of small mosaic parts
that never endingly exist in us? Have we been formed out of millions of small parts to a complete
picture that has no own worth and has to fall into its parts again?
Does it even matter to be happy if we found ourselves in our children, a certain line that has
been traveling through our bodies for millions of years?
What remains of me? "

― Dmitry Glukhovsky

1
2
3