Quotes About Dusk

towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain that this bleak place overgrown with

Your day is done. Night is coming fast for you." - Nickolas Nickleby

the Shadow XI. Dusk XII. Darkness XIII. Fifty-two XIV. The Knitting Done XV. The Footsteps

Shadow XI. Dusk XII. Darkness XIII. Fifty-two XIV. The Knitting Done

VII. A Knock at the Door VIII. A Hand at Cards IX. The Game Made X. The Substance of the Shadow XI. Dusk XII.

A setting sun still whispers a promise for tomorrow.

the dimming light seemed to make the house disappear into the sky

The children's happy cries rise and fall in the evening light as imperfect and irrevocable as the past, and he stands in the yard of his father's house, waiting, poised motionless on the frontier of the future, until it is too dark to see.

Le jour n'existe plus le soleil s'est noyé

When the short days of winter came, dusk fell before we had well eaten our dinners. When we met in the street the houses had grown sombre. The space of sky above us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street.

A region where grey twilight ever descends, never falls on wide sagegreen pasturefields, shedding her dusk, scattering a perennial dew of stars.

The ambition which he felt astir at times in the darkness of his soul sought no outlet. A dusk like that of the outer world obscured his mind as he heard the mare's hoofs clattering along the tramtrack on the Rock Road and the great can swaying and rattling behind him.

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.

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

Even in the early dusk, the immortal Chang'e cast her immutable splendor out over the bay in penetrating shafts of silver light, each broadening into a highway of dancing reflections leading back to the feet of the goddess herself.

You felt a deep sorrow, the kind of melancholy you feel when you're in a beautiful place and the sun is going down

It was that time of the evening when Beit Jala willed itself to cool down: the land breathed, the sun dipped, the birds rose, the hills took on a sudden burst of dark green.

Where he walked the tideline at dusk the last red reaches of the sun flared slowly out along the sky to the west and the tidepools stood like spills of blood. He stopped to look back at his bare footprints. Filling with water one by one. The reefs seemed to move slowly in the last hours and the late colors of the sun drained away and then the sudden darkness fell like a foundry shutting down for the night.

All through the long dusk

The crumpled butcherpaper mountains lay in sharp shadowfold under the long blue dusk and in the middle distance the glazed bed of a dry lake lay shimmering like the mare imbrium and herds of deer were moving north in the last of the twilight, harried over the plain by wolves who were themselves the color of the desert floor.

The old man lay dim and bleared in his brass bed. Suttree leaned back in the chair and pushed at his eyes with the back of his hand. The day had grown dusk, the rain eased. Pigeons flapped up overhead and preened and crooned. The keeper of this brief vigil said that he'd guessed something of the workings in the wings, the ropes and sand-bags and the houselight toggles. Heard dimly a shuffling and coughing beyond the painted drop of the world.

Where he walked the tideline at dusk the last red reaches of the sun flared slowly out along the sky to the west and the tidepools stood like spills of blood.

We might have very different notions about the nature of the oncoming night. But as darkness descends does it matter?

Firing the sunset gun