Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Parasol. 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 Parasol Quotes And Sayings by 86 Authors including Daniel Arsand,Leigh Bardugo,Heather Vogel Frederick,Wallace Stevens,Du Fu for you to enjoy and share.
It is the end of a fine bronze-tinted afternoon with purple shadows and febrile scraps of cloud.
At that moment, the creature's back breached the waves, its body cutting through the water in a sinuous arch, rainbows sparking off the iridescent scales on its back. Rusalye.
Chadwickius frenemus,
It was autumn and falling stars
Covered the shrivelled forms
Crouched in the moonlight.
Shine: clear dew aching with light.
The small, homely scar of a smallpox vaccination. Rain
Slowly my body grows a single sound, slowly I become a bell, an oval, disembodied vowel, I grow, an owl, an aureole, white fire
poesia Metamorfosi, I. Luna
Myth is a cloud based upon a shadow based upon the movement of the breeze.
Summer is full of smoke, and endless lawns. Quietly, whether across moss or on algae, knee over the railing of the little porch, fate comes.
Orange, Longbottom.
Purplish brown? Let's agree it / is a color so bad we all flee it / it has no good use / so let's name it Puce / from the sound we make when we see it.
Nature is a tropical swamp in sunshine, on whose purlieus we hear the song of summer birds, and see prismatic dewdrops, - but her interiors are terrific, full of hydras and crocodiles.
a misbegotten cockwaffle.
O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple.
-a superb moon, round as a pumpkin and golden as honey, filling the rooftop world with light, and deep, mysterious shadow.
the darkness of the summer slowly unfurling, never to be completely gone, but fading to become no more than a part of the life that surrounds it.
Leaves in the light of red flames; the wind laughs out of golden clouds.
In a long journey straw waighs.
A plant similar to sorrel. The leaf can be chewed up and applied
Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies, Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies; The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare, And shed their substance on the floating air.
Feathers needed, swan preferred.
Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labour to overcome the cloud that loads 'em.
Misty is the color of rain on a window.
Splendiferous. That's your word. It's yellow with six legs and it's crawling up your arm.
Incandescent afternoons in Spain, the shutters closed, a blade of sun burning into the darkness.
An inflated balloon
impressive to look at but hollow at the core and easily punctured.
Your window square a yellow kite, and the Moon a white balloon
red plastic rain
her tears stain
Humid the air! Leafless, yet soft as spring. The tender purple spray on copse and briers! And that sweet city with her dreaming spires, she needs not June for beauty's heightening. Lovely all the time she lies ...
Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower That faints into itself at evening hour:
was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red. Red. Red. Dozens of them: black feathers coated thickly with crimson-colored paint, fluttering among the branches. Red
The tinkle of a wind chime stirred from over a window. Purple and white phlox cascaded cheerfully over the top of a nearby stone wall. Sunlight sifted through the weave of her straw hat, casting freckles of light on her nose and cheeks that shifted, out of focus, as she walked.
Soft and sun-warm, see her glide
From that woman on the beach, dusk pours out across the evening waves. ISSA
Do you even know what Avila is?
sand-bar, sorrowful
Her collarbones like wings that spread from the base of her throat to the ends of her shoulders. A bird held down by skin
behaving in an almost giddy fashion, some slathering on sunscreen in
Above the forest of the parakeets,
A parakeet of parakeets prevails,
A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
You are a fountain of the sun's light. I am a willow shadow on the ground. You make my raggedness silky.
Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes.
Ll dark hair and blue smudges in the moonlight.
A red, red rose, all wet with dew, With leaves of green by red shot through.
The afternoon light brightening the green in her eyes, her tan skin the last memory of fall
Gervasio Lonquimay
He carried a highly ecclesiastical umbrella, like something real and austere, that said its prayers at night in the hatstand. I
The world is a parable-the habitation of symbols-the phantoms of spiritual things immortal shown in material shape.
Your skin is transparent as distilled moonlight
I am carried in my shadow like a violin in its black case
One opal cloudlet in an oval form reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm which in a distant valley has been staged for we are most artistically caged.
porcini-asparagus
Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.
It's evening, one of those gray water-color washes, like liquid dust.
A pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift.
The clouds, - the only birds that never sleep.
I have forgotten my umbrella.
Dust Glitter Rain
A mist rises from a nearby mound. It could be me, that mist, or simply the caretaker's mower-dust. If the breeze blows just right, I'll ghost your solid, entwine your hair. Promise me you won't shampoo, but carry me along, tiny dust-particles of me.
Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest.
Oh it's a pebble ... But it's a really nice pebble Dad thanks.
Warm evenings, pale mornings, bottle of blues
Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field ...
landed on my chest and stuck its proboscis
Like the kite that caught up to the sky,
painted with clouds, I lost track of it,
but it was connected
by string, something I was holding,
something I could always
bring back.
crepuscle, the mysterious half-light that comes at both ends of the day, when the small secret things come out to feed. There
Winter crescent resting in the high pine bough - you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird ...
Sophie felt as if she were encased in a glass globe called summer.
An olive, with a pit ...
fantastic shadows of birds
- to wit, 'the sweat of the brow.
Who soars too near the sun, with golden wings, melts them.
Woman cannot survive on droplets, she requires waves to regularly crash over her shores as the moon gives way to the sun...
beetle-spirited vaporing
A name that brings a taste of sunshine, and of sunshine raising mist from the trees, and of mist reaching toward the sky.
A fine silver rain, like cobwebs falling.
pilaster, probably meant to anchor a
Hush! With sudden gush As from a fountain sings in yonder bush The Hermit Thrush.
A child fairer than a pictured cherub - a creature who seemed to shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter than the chamois of the hills.
A pale sun poked impudent marmalade fingers through the grizzled lattice glass, and sent the shadows scurrying, like convent girls menaced by a tramp.
The cloudlets are lazily sailing O'er the blue Atlantic sea; And mid the twilight there hovers A shadowy figure o'er me ...
The summer breeze was blowing on your face
Within your violet you treasure your summery words
And as the shiver from my neck down to my spine
Ignited me in daylight and nature in the garden
Bitter love, a violet with it's crown of thorns in a thicet of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?
Wet catkins fur the twigs of a willow.
There is something hot in snow: Its pure and clean look!
What have we in common with the rosebud, which trembles because a drop of dew is lying upon it?
A hunter of shadows, himself a shade.
Straw shows which way the wind is blowing.
We fill the nothing with suns,
line them up,
swallow sap, swallow
field, drop by drop, each stem
a pump. Rose to rose to rose to
rose to rose to rose to rose, calyx &
anther, all summer
gone.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
A jagged object cut the sky above the roofs; it was half a spire, still holding the glow of the sunset; the gold leaf had long since peeled off the other half. The glow was red and still, like the reflection of a fire: not an active fire, but a dying one which it is too late to stop.
I am the shade. Through the dolent city, i flee. Through the eternal woe, i take flight..
A breath, whence no man knows, Swaying the grating weeds, it blows; It comes, it grieves, it goes. Once it rocked the summer rose.
Miss Barry, who was sitting behind them, leaned forward and poked Marilla in the back with her parasol.
O'er folded blooms On swirls of musk, The beetle booms adown the glooms And bumps along the dusk.
The gloomy shade of death.
Nothing touches your skin of sweat
(meltdown of oceanic kisses)
when the purple light
whispers to the moon
in silent moonlit clarity
To what shall
I liken the world?
Moonlight, reflected
In dewdrops,
Shaken from a crane's bill.
Love me. Love my umbrella.
The moon rose, an opalescent goddess tipping light from her harsh maternal scimitar.
Apelles used to paint a good housewife on a snail, to import that she home-keeping.