Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Lamp Posts. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Lamp Posts Quotes And Sayings by 98 Authors including Rebecca Stead,Terry Pratchett,Robert Herrick,Rae Armantrout,Susannah Hardy for you to enjoy and share.
And books all over the floor, some stocked in piles, some worn-looking, some brand-new, some splayed upside down, some sliding off the pink bedside table next to the lamp with the orange fabric shade.
How do they rise up?
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun.
Now light sits in the chairs
quarters, long hoop houses covered in semi-opaque white
Look out!! Ha! Now you've done it! Now you've broken a lamp, and you've got no one to blame it on but yourself!"
"Maybe I could blame it on society!
I wonder why people use only walls for hanging pictures.
In the silence of the night, streetlights talk each other by touching their lights each other!
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
I haven't taken my Christmas lights down. They look so nice on the pumpkin.
What kind of married couple uses a pole on their wedding night?
They throw their shadows before them who carry their lantern on their back.
Why have one chandelier when you can have two?
There must be dark shadows in the picture - to bring out the beauty of the lights.
Book light," Grandma grumbles as I hurry her away from Dad's boss and his wife. "Who the hell wants
a book light?"
"Lots of people," I say. "They are very handy things to have.
The ... office was decorated in early American Earth Mother, with spider plants, hemp wall tapestries, and beeswax candles.
Chandeliers are marvels of drop-dead showiness, the jewellery of architecture.
A light here required a shadow there.
Outrageous flowers swagging off balconies like bright skirts of ballgowns ...
I had a classmate who fitted for college by the lamps of a lighthouse, which was more light, we think, than the University afforded.
Below him, the lamplighter was lighting the lamps that lined the wide avenue.
Cement in bold relief, - far underground. I lean my elbows on the table, and the lamp lights brightly the newspapers I am fool enough to re-read, and the absurd books.
Processions that lack high stilts have nothing that catches the eye.
What if my great-granddad had a pair that were twenty foot high,
And mine were but fifteen foot, no modern stalks upon higher,
Some rogue of the world stole them to patch up a fence or a fire.
Fluorescent lights on the ceiling lit up the white Formica top of her desk like an operating table, white-sand beach at high noon, French fries under the heat lamp at McDonald's.
The street lamps glowed like ripe oranges among the bare boughs. Below in the wet street their globes glimmered down and down, to drown in their own reflections.
Trees hang their branches
I think they look like little pieces of green confetti decorating the grey cement walk and that seems all wrong.
In a seemingly dark and troubled world, there are hundreds and thousands of lightworkers, standing strong, refusing to dim their lights. Look for the light workers they are all around you. Follow them back to the light.
Light is what gives joy to buildings.
There is a place to stand where you can see so many lights you forget you are one of them.
The principles upon which a safety lamp might be constructed I stated to several persons long before Sir Humphrey Davy came into this part of the country.
My wife says I'd get philosophical with a lamp post if I thought the thing had ears.
Shoes twisted into incredible lilies.
Heaven trims our lamps while we sleep.
Chairs are useful
There's nothing more lovely than your lamplight, seen from a dark street ...
Keepers of light carry invisible candles of hope, touching hearts and illuminating the souls of friends.
How do they balance on these spindly things?
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves.
The lampshade on my head is for my bright ideas. I won't be able to convey them until Monday, when my curtain gets out of the dry cleaners.
That's it. Curtains. Off to the races. Treetops. Seashells and balloons.
Deep in the drilled-in mud of the fields behind me, our bulbs are wrapped in their brittle skins with their messages of color stored inside. Blue iris, yellow crocus, tulips of all colors.
A dense undergrowth of extension cords sustains my upper world of lights, music, and machines of comfort.
cubes to blow torches.
Each small candle lights a corner of the dark.
Many hands make light work.
We come to a lamp beside the pathway, and suddenly we stop walking, and we start to dance, and we glitter in the shafts of light, like stars, like flies, like flakes of dust.
Light and evanescent but held together by bolts of iron
High and low rest on each other.
Their tunics bloodbright in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls.
The window-lights, myriads and myriads,Bloom from the walls like climbing flowers.
Thousands of solar panels lift and tilt at the same time, in the same way. I clutch at Dad's arm: "Why are they doing that?" "They're collecting moonlight," Dad says, and I remember: it's weaker, but we use it.
To poke its umbrella tip in the mud of the electric light
The more of those little light bulbs that can turn on the better. Eventually you'll have enough to light up a movie screen.
Aladdin's lamp is mine.
Take lights and deform them as brutally as you can.
And these are called a Jacob's ladder,
Even the most solid of things, and the most real, the best-loved and the well-known, are only hand shadows on the wall. Empty space and points of light.
Screw you in the ass with an anglepoise lamp,
There is light somewhere.
And so, under a short grove of feebler and feebler over-swinging lamps, out under the great grove of stars.
I like to change. A new lamp, a piece of art, can transform a room.
This one Corbusier lamp was like, my greatest inspiration ... I'm a minimalist in a rapper's body.
In the deep shadow of the porch
A slender bind-weed springs,
And climbs, like airy acrobat,
The trellises, and swings
And dances in the golden sun
In fairy loops and rings.
I just long for the day when I wake up and find that the Saudi royal family are swinging from lamp-posts.
Photographs of girl-children; some gaudy moth or butterfly, still alive, safely pinned to the wall.
saw my weave piece draped over the bedside lamp.
With thimble and thread And wax and hammer, and buckles and screws, And all such things as geniuses use; - Two bats for patterns, curious fellows! A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows.
birch twigs, and a willow binding. The ash is protective, the birch is purifying, and the willow is sacred to the Goddesss. Of
We have very pretty Dutch gardens, so called, in America, but their chief claim to being Dutch is that they are set with bulbs, and have Delft or other earthen pots or boxes for formal plants or shrubs.
You create your own decoration. You choose your color, you choose your mood ... If you are depressed, you put some bright yellow and suddenly you are happy.
The moon glows on the river, wind rustles the pines.
Long night clear evening
what are they for?
The plants and flowers
I raised about my hut
I now surrender
To the will
Of the wind
Books inviting us to read, on the bookshelves stand.
Piers for bridges that will lead, into Fairyland
Is that a stake, Bones, or are you just happy with my new dress?"
"In this case, it's a stake. You could always feel around for something more, though. See what comes up.
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam ... and after a while they will fall to dust and rain; or else we will tear them down with impatient hands; and hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
pilaster, probably meant to anchor a
Street children are lovely blossoms just dropped from the tree after a heavy storm. Now they need to be put together with a needle and threads of security and shelter to live into a beautiful circle of life's garland
Decorators never quite saw the point of massing books. Books brought colour to a room and filled it up, but shelves bearing just one thing struck them as a decorative display opportunity tragically lost.
The light would show (if it could harden)
Eternities of kitchen garden
In front of the coffee tablethere is a neon-pink stump stool, which I bought because my friend Amanda Brooks told me that every house has to have a 'wart,' or one really ugly piece.
Leaves. Hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of them, brown and yellow and red and orange, in bright piles on the concrete floor. Some were so high they almost covered the rosebushes.
Don't toy with things that block your light.
Just give me a second to get my wind back. Who the hell put that pole there?
Think of what starlight
And lamplight would lack
Diamonds and fireflies
If they couldn't lean against Black ...
Moths flitted in the porch light, pinging against the bulb, helplessly drawn to something they could never have.
Even a single lamp dispels the deepest darkness.
I don't split poles. When I'm walking with my friends by lampposts, we all walk on the same side. And I won't cross over your legs. If you're sitting down and like chilling on the floor, I won't walk over your legs because then you'll go to jail.
I can't stand a naked light bulb, any more than I can a rude remark or a vulgar action.
What did moths bump into before the electric light bulb was invented? Boy, the lightbulb really screwed the moth up didn't it? Are there moths on their way to the sun now going, It's gonna be worth it!.
I used to tell jokes about Internet-enabled lightbulbs. I can't tell jokes about it anymore - there already is an Internet-connected lightbulb.
In garden arrangement, as in all other kinds of decorative work, one has not only to acquire a knowledge of what to do, but also to gain some wisdom in perceiving what it is well to let alone.
I borrow the stilts of an old tragedy.
The Poets light but Lamps-
Themselves-go out-
He who has no light in his heart, what will he gain from the festival of lamps.
The leaves and the light are one.
Instead of putting flowers in books to flatten them you can use a brick.
I long for the bulbs to arrive, for the early autumn chores are melancholy, but the planting of bulbs is the work of hope and is always thrilling.
There are some who go through life with a shadow hanging over them, particularly if they live in a building which has long wide awnings.
The mountains and moors, the wild uplands, are to be staked out like vampires in the sun, their chests pierced with rows of five-hundred-foot wind turbines and associated access roads, masts, pylons, and wires.