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.