Quotes About Darkness

Solo en casa un día de invierno al atardecer. Eran las cinco o las cinco y media, en la calle ya hacía frío y estaba oscuro, la lluvia azotada por el viento arañaba las contraventanas de hierro, mis padres se habían ido a tomar un té a casa de Mala y Stashek Rodnitzky, en

Tuttavia, nessuno in paese usciva mai di casa quando era buio. Perché il buio, dicevano i genitori, il buio è pieno di cose che è decisamente meglio non incontrare.

You can't stay in the dark for too long. Something inside you starts to fade, and you become like a starving person, crazy-hungry for light.

But you can't stay in the dark for so long. Something inside of you starts to fade and you become like a starving person, crazy-hungry for light.

Pero no puedes permanecer en la oscuridad durante mucho tiempo. Algo dentro de ti empieza a desvanecerse y entonces te vuelves como una persona hambrienta, desesperadamente ansiosa de luz.

Tengo la sensación de ser un pájaro enjaulado, al que han arrancado las alas violentamente, y en la más absoluta penumbra, choca contra los barrotes de su estrecha jaula, al querer volar.

But I lie. I embellish. My words are not deep enough. They disguise, they conceal. I will not rest until I have told of my descent into a sensuality which was as dark, as magnificent, as wild, as my moments of mystic creation have been dazzling, ecstatic, exalted.

When human pain has struck me fiercely, when anger has corroded me, I rise, I always rise after the crucifixion, and I am in terror of my ascensions. THE FISSURE IN REALITY. The divine departure. I fall. I fall into darkness after the collusion with pain, and after pain the divine departure.

I am enmeshed in my lies, and I want absolution. I cannot tell the truth because I have felt the heads of men in my womb. The truth would be death-dealing and I prefer fairytales. I am wrapped in lies which do not penetrate my soul. As if the lies I tell were like costumes. The shell of mystery can break and grow again over night. But the moment I step into the cavern of my lies I drop into the darkness. I see a face which stares at me like a cross-eyed man.

She only believed in intimacy and proximity, in confessions born in the darkness of a bedroom, in quarrels born of alcohol, in communions born of exhausting walks through the city. She only believed in those words which came like the confessions of criminals after long exposure to hunger, to intense lights, to cross-questioning, to violent tearing away of masks.

It was unreal because I live only in the depths. When I come to the surface for pleasure, I don't live. I live only in passion, pain, depths, darkness. But I try to breathe above of the deep ocean of sensation.

I thought how much this meant to me, and that it was what I really felt about D. H. Lawrence, and that it was the darkness which attracted me . . . don't you think it ‹ so about Lawrence?

And another reason why I could not live with Dostoevsky alone, and had to find something else, is that in Lawrence the "darkness" was mostly sexual—and there is not quite enough sexuality in Dostoevsky.

Amiel écrirait que son âme émet des rayons noirs.

The manners and customs of bugs are peculiar; they wait till the candle is out, and then, as soon as it is dark, sally forth—not at random; they make straight for the neck, the place of their predilection; sometimes they select the wrists; a few rare ones prefer the ankles. It is not exactly known for what reason they inject into the sleeper's skin an exquisitely irritating oily substance, the virulence of which is intensified by the slightest rubbing...

The clouds were disappearing rapidly, leaving the stars to die. The night dried up.

May night continue to fall upon the orchestra

But, matters now going as they seemed to be, that life would probably not be long. Best spend it doing all I could to withstand the Shadow.

The dark was hissing and hot and hard with a jagged bone, a cold brutal bone, and hips packed tight. The dark wasn't just at night. The dark was any time, any place; you open your eyes and the dark is there, right up against you, pressing. You can't see anything and you don't know any names, not who they are or the names for what they do...

No se obran milagros en el mundo, lo único que no comprendo es la muerte, ese engullimiento en un abismo sombrío y denso donde se pierden los sentimientos y la conciencia. ¿Acaso es un milagro? No, es poco probable: es metafísica.

Darkness is only light's absence.

Darkness is only light's absence. -Things that Are

Self turned to God is the glory of allowing the Creator to reveal Himself in us. Self turned away from God is the very darkness and fire of hell.

It is not suffering that is precious, but the concentric pearlescence with which we contain it. The raw grit of anguish will never be in short supply. There is enough of it in the happiest life to serve these instructive purposes, and there always will be. We are more sympathetic to Holocaust survivors than to malcontent children of privilege, but we all have our darkness, and the trick is making something exalted of it.