Quotes About Evening

I loved this time of night, how everything softened and lost the hard edges of day, and how, if the wind moved just right, the live oaks would murmur tender green words across the shadowy lawn. Sitting with a book in the warm circle of light from the table lamp had become my favorite way to end the day.

evening: a spotless record, knowledge, stimulating conversation—but he had no love. She had nothing to offer Christ that evening but a terrible record. She was almost assuredly illiterate, and she couldn't talk for crying. But she had love.

I saw my parents as model grown-ups, and their manner, their silence, informed my sense of what adulthood looked and felt like. Grown-ups behaved rationally and calmly. Grown-ups worked during the day and came home at night and sat down for drinks and passed the evening quietly.

I am almost always, when I'm at home in the evening after work, in a silk bathrobe I got from India. Like, I never take off this bathrobe. I have a series of Indian silk bathrobes that I love, and that's what I rock all the time.

dinner, and by the time they had finished their

Quella sera, non fossero stati tanto i forestieri ad abbattere i passerotti, quanto piuttosto questi ultimi, uccelli magici volati da un luogo sconosciuto, a prendere d'assalto le loro anime vagabonde.

the redness had seeped from the day and night was arranging herself around us. Cooling things down, staining and dyeing the evening purple and blue black.

Sunset is the saddest light there is

It was a winter evening like so many others that passed in quiet predictability:

It was nine-thirty on Christmas Eve. As I crossed the long entrance hall of Monk's Piece on my way from the dining room, where we had just enjoyed the first of the happy, festive meals, toward the drawing room and the fire around which my family were now assembled, I paused and then, as I often do in the course of an evening, went to the front door, opened it and stepped outside.

Evening," Zane said. It was a pretty wordy opening for him.

When she stepped into the shop that evening, she felt an emptiness so vast that she almost couldn't breathe. Everything had drained out of her. "It's exhausting, isn't it?" asked Grandy. "A sadness like this. It's physically exhausting.

Nord annonciateur de beau temps Est le réveil Sud le repas Ouest le repos

Helpful Hint: Some Berettas are compact enough to fit into even the smallest evening clutch.

On the avenue, dark and tree-lined, shop windows began to blink on.

Dusk falls. There is nothing gentle about the sky.

Serene last evening, short as life, end of all that was loved, I want to be eternal!

But I do know," he continued, "how to salvage an evening for a girl in a party dress." He stood up, bowed. Held out his hand. "May I have this dance?" "Here?

what a sad pair we are," she said. "Surely we can manage a conversation on a topic other than our respective terrible evenings.

I shall be delighted to see you again this evening." "Will you?" (chuckles) "How tart! Positively lemonish of you." "Lemonish; really.

I leave work by 6:30 P.M. so I can spend some time with the children. Inevitably, we'll end up watching basketball or football. I live in a house of boys, and they're all sports mad, so I don't stand a chance.

I know that people in Dubai are particularly well read, educated and intelligent and that the audience in front of me will come looking forward to an evening that is different from watching a film. That is the kind of crowd that goes to a theatre or a play and I am hoping to see many of them in Dubai.

CHAPTER ONE It was a beautiful Sunday evening in mid-March when Hillary Greene turned the corner onto a very familiar part of the Oxford canal. Up ahead, she could just make out the first glimpse of the few rooftops and chimneys that marked the small hamlet of Thrupp, which was less than a mile from Kidlington, in the heart of Oxfordshire's Thames Valley. She throttled down the engine of the Mollern, her narrowboat and home for more

The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. It weeps monotonously as water weeps as the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things. Hot southern sands yearning for white camellias. Weeps arrow without target evening without morning and the first dead bird on the branch. Oh, guitar! Heart mortally wounded by five swords.