By day the banished sun circles the earth like a grieving mother with a lamp.

No hay nada nuevo bajo el sol, pero hay muchas cosas viejas que nosotros no sabemos.

There's nothing new under the sun, but there are lots of old things we don't know.

The chaos lies all within.

The Sun is bad enough even while he is single, drying up our marshes with his heat as he does. But what will become of us if he marries and and begets other suns?

Our world, like a charnel-house, is strewn with the detritus of dead epochs.

The sun got confused about daylight savings time. It rose twice. Everything had two shadows.

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting

MANY a hearth upon our dark globe sighs after many a vanish’d face,
Many a planet by many a sun may roll with a dust of a vanish’d race.

Raving politics, never at rest — as this poor earth’s pale history runs, — What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?

Eros has degenerated; he began by introducing order and harmony, and now he brings back chaos.

The sun that warmed our stooping backs and withered the weed
uprooted-
We shall not feel it again.
We shall die in darkness, and be buried in the rain.

The sun is a white devil, the broiling eye of a god I don’t believe in, gazing down at all the world.

The world has an awful beauty. This is a chaotic place, humanity is a chaotic place, and I am a chaotic place.