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Life is a blend of laughter and tears, a combination of rain and sunshine.
Storm, Rain, and Sunshine, huh? (Talon) My mother’s doing. I’m just glad she stopped at three. I was told the next one would have been named Cloudy Day. (Sunshine)
(Talon pulled another beignet from the sack and held it up for her to eat.) That stuff is hazardous to your health. (Sunshine) Baby, life is hazardous to your health. (Talon)
Showers and sunshine bring, Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth; To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, And one by one the singing-birds come back.
You count on it, you rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then, just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.
Sunshine is more health-giving than pills and potions: and travel in foreign lands is a mental tonic, which feeds the mind even if it empties the pocket.
The smile on your lips brings the summer sunshine, the tears in your eyes bring the rain. I feel your touch, you warm embrace, and I'm in heaven again.
It was the month of May and there was warm sunshine dripping through the holes between the clouds, like the sky was a broken blue bowl and a child was trying to keep honey in it.
And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth, and many a maid, Dancing in the checkered shade. And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holiday.
Do you have any coffee? (Talon) Ew! No, that stuff will kill you. I have herbal teas, though. (Sunshine) Herbal teas? That’s mulch, not a beverage. (Talon)
The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold The pur0ple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
But self-satisfaction, if as buoyant as gas, has an ugly trick of collapsing when full blown, and facts are stony things that refuse to melt away in the sunshine of a smile.
Under the snowdrifts the blossoms are sleeping, Dreaming their dreams of sunshine and June, Down in the hush of their quiet they're keeping Trills from the throstle's wild summer-sung tune.
It's morning again, little hope, and the world's drying of with fresh-laundered sunshine. Life's face is never the same though we may look at it for all eternity.