Quotes About Dusk

At dusk a broken wheel appeared, Held by a hand I could not see, And I knew that someone I feared, Had discovered an empty room in me" ~ 1951

The sun is starting to dip to the west, a bright blaring ball tilting toward the Hudson and leaving a collage of peach and purple streaks across the sky.

The dusk had arrived on the wings of a night moth, silent and soft. The sky above me darkened to a deep, beautiful purple. Stars glowed high above, and below them, as if inspired by their light, tiny fireflies awoke and crawled from their shelter in the leaves.

no matter how early you rise or how late you turn in, you never see that point where light begins or the first bruise of darkness bleeds in under its fragile skin; the beauty, and the scary, unfathomable wisdom of transition.

As the late afternoon darkness falls, the lights look tacky and sinister.

Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells!

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Twilight drops her curtain down, and pins it with a star.

A time when sky blue love bids farewell to the day and before dusk falls, the sunset ignites the smouldering embers of the moonlit soul...

and I love to watch how the day, tired as it is, lags away reluctantly, and hates to be called yesterday so soon.

A room like a dream, a room truly spiritual, whose stagnant atmosphere is lightly tinted with pink and blue. It's a thing of the dusk, something bluish, pinkish; a sensual dream during an eclipse.

Quiénes son los infortunados a quien la tarde no calma, y toman, como los búhos, la llegada de la noche por señal de aquelarre?

They studied the way the world changed at morning and dusk and imagined how the sun might fall on the skin of a goddess.

La nuit tombe, le jour se lève. Toujours.

complete with driving winds and a sky nearly black enough to turn the twilight of the city and surrounding countryside into full night.

The sisters were stuck in approximately chapter nine of the book of their lives. It was the chapter in which they discover themselves lost in the woods, and it's dusk, and they can either turn back and retrace their steps or keep walking. And everyone except them knows that they should turn back. So they keep walking.

All day, the colors had been those of dusk, mist moving like a water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depths.

The darkness seemed to be rising rather than the sun falling. As if darkness were the natural order around here.

Finally, as the stars began to prick the lavender sky in the east

The quality of light just before dusk on a clear winter day is loaded with poignancy. My mother had called it "the blue hour," when melancholy slips into a room unnoticed and touches everything with a sprinkling of pain.

The fells contract, regroup in starker forms; Dusk tightens on them, as the wind gets up And stretches hungrily: tensed at the nape, The coarse heath bristles like a living pelt. William Dunlop Landscape as Werewolf

It was too wet to see the sun go down, too grey to see the moon come up.

That was the day without a dawn.

Wilhelmine chatted on, chatted as if emboldened by the gathering dusk. She wasn't afraid any more. She didn't blush any more. And in this chatter without lamplight the dark seemed to suffuse her words as well. Her voice deepened. Darkness can have a strange influence. It has something religious about it and makes one speak in a low voice, as if in a church.