Light Of A Candle Quote Novels & Stories

He simply replied before telling her, “Hold this torch, I’ll be right back.” She stood confused until he came back and placed many candles of all sizes all over the room and lit them, driving the darkness away.

It flickered in the draft from the door. "It is... small," Cale whispered. "It's a candle." "It is a timeline," Cale said. "Burning down." "It's just wax, Cale. Don't get metaphysical." "I cannot help it. The symbolism is overt." "Blow it out. Make a wish." Cale looked at Elion. The candlelight reflected in his green eyes, making them look like deep pools of water. "I do not know what to wish for," Cale admitted.

The flame was born, flickering, then steadied, casting a trembling sphere of golden light and dancing shadows. He carried the candle to the living room. Júlia was now sitting on the floor near the sofa, gathering scattered brushes. The candlelight reached her, caressing the lines of her curved body, making her eyes gleam like dark water. She looked up, her face a moving mask of lights and darks. “The hero arrives with fire,” she murmured, a trace of irony in her voice, though an underlying tension was perceptible. “Heroes have generators. I have a vanilla soy candle,” he replied, placing it carefully on the coffee table. The flame cast enormous, grotesque shadows on the walls that writhed wi

Ethan and I solved the first riddle first in order to know where we should start, and what item we're looking for. "I don't have a battery but I can give you light. I can be short and tall, but I will disappear once my light fades. You can find me buried under a beautiful shade of purple tree. What am I?" I read out loud and instantly thought of the answer. "A candle!" "Let's find the purple tree." Ethan suggested and we ran around trying to find a purple tree while filming ourselves. "There, Ethan! A bougeinvilla!" I pointed and we rushed there.

All of it was measured and uncalculated, yet I wanted to memorize it. As we reached the door, he paused. “By the way,” he said, glancing at the candle I’d bought last weekend from the art show stall. “Did it melt unevenly?” I laughed softly. “I haven’t even lit it yet. It feels too pretty to ruin.” “That’s fair,” he said, eyes lighting with a kind of quiet amusement. “Some things are meant to be used. Otherwise, what’s the point?” The words lingered longer than they should have, and I found myself smiling without thinking.

The words were partially distorted but I heard them clearly enough. “Direct hit. No survivors possible. You know what this was.” The other man did not answer. They went back to work. Standard procedure. The camera panned across the crater. Slow. Methodical. Documenting. Halfway through the pan it caught something at the outer edge. A small glass jar. Cracked but not shattered. Inside it, the remains of a candle. The same kind Laila used on the beach that night. The same kind she kept on every surface in our house because she said candlelight made every room feel like it was exhaling.

In the hush, fireflies rose among lilies, twinkling like tiny promises: light survives, even where grave markers once stood. Ophelia closed her fingers around the ring, feeling its cool curve against her pulse. *Little star, we made it past dawn. Now we learn how bright daylight can be.* ---

"I am just. Helena." "I know," Helena said. "You are closing the showcase," Cassidy said. "I am closing the showcase," Helena said. They were quiet for a moment together. "Do you remember what mum used to say," Cassidy said quietly. "When we were small. About the people who were meant to shine." "She said you cannot dim a light that is supposed to be on," Helena said. "Yes," Cassidy said. "She said that." Helena looked at the evening outside her windscreen. The city settling into itself. The particular golden light of a Thursday at the end of a good week.