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Sun

The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.

Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891) French poet and adventurer.

The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.

Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) American Modernist poet.

The sun is but a morning star.

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) American naturalist, poet and philosopher.

Nobody of any real culture, for instance, ever talks nowadays about the beauty of sunset. Sunsets are quite old fashioned. To admire them is a distinct sign of provincialism of temperament. Upon the other hand they go on.

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) Irish poet and dramatist.

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