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And so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall through the snow gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror. But when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again.

Grief is a bad moon, a sleeper wave. It's like having an inner combatant, a saboteur who, at the slightest change in the sunlight, or at the first notes of a jingle for a dog food commercial, will flick the memory switch, bringing tears to your eyes.

I've seen too many sunrises, as far as the walk of shame, staying out too late doing very bad things.

I cry very easily. It can be a movie, a phone conversation, a sunset - tears are words waiting to be written.

When sparrows build and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries.

The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.

Oft when the white, still dawn lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart, I have felt it like a glory in my heart.

Sunsets are so beautiful that they almost seem as if we were looking through the gates of Heaven.

After every storm the sun will smile; for every problem there is a solution, and the soul's indefeasible duty is to be of good cheer.