Quotes About Dusk

I go out alone to visit a man alone in this autumn dusk

CALL it loneliness, that deep, beautiful color no one can describe: over these dark mountains, the gathering autumn dusk.

Autumn Dusk I saw above a sea of hills A solitary planet shine, And there was no one, near or far, to keep the world from being mine.

Oh, I could let the world go by, Its loud new wonders and its wars, BUt how will I give up the sky When winter dusk is set with stars? And I could let the cities go, Their changing customs and their creeds,– In silver on the jewel-weeds!

Dusk in Autumn" The moon is like a scimitar, A little silver scimitar, A-drifting down the sky. And near beside it is a star, A timid twinkling golden star, That watches likes an eye. And thro' the nursery window-pane The witches have a fire again, Just like the ones we make,— And now I know they're having tea, I wish they'd give a cup to me, With witches' currant cake.

Time is purple / Just before night.

Night will always be a time of fear and insecurity, and the heart will sink with the sun.

It's twilight. It's the safest time of day for us. The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way...the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?

It was the in-between time, before day leaves and night comes, a time I've never been partial to because of the sadness that lingers in the space between going and coming.

somewhere, nearby voices filled with dusk, cabs and panhandlers and one drunken girl screeching like a wounded bird - all of it flushed with a warmth and sad beauty I'd never noticed before.

Autumn settled itself down over the land like a colorful skirt. Dusk came earlier and touched the leaves with sharp breath. The hills were filled with the smoke from smoldering patches of forest fires.

Dusk is the time when men whisper of matters about which they remain silent in the full light of the sun.

Your lips are for songs about rivers in the morning and lakes at twilight.

Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark, The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending. Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending, And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy; Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending, With distant echo from the fold and lea, And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.

LIFE IS LIKE A FRESH DAY, DEATH IS THE NIGHT WHEN THE DAY ENDS.

The evening star,Love's harbinger.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.

Dusk faces with white silken turbans wreath'd.

O nightingale, that on yon bloomy sprayWarbl'st at eve, when all the woods are still.

Because it's getting to be the blue hour, and that's the time when everything is revealed.

Out on the Nevsky, in the deepening dusk, a long double file of cyclists came riding, guns slung on their shoulders. They halted, and the crowd pressed in and deluged them with questions. "Who are you? Where do you come from?" asked a fat old man with a cigar in his mouth. "Twelfth Army. From the front. We came to support the Soviets against the damn' bourgeoisie!

The days are short The sun a spark Hung thin between The dark and dark.

Toward evening, Harriet found herself thinking the oddest thoughts: that twilight is not really dark. It's gray. The sun gone, the world turns gray, without emotion, without color. It seemed a fitting time for a little girl to slip free of all this pain, to let go.

All twilights are on my side.