Quotes About Darkness

The spring that brims and ripples oh I know in dark of night.

Within humanity is goodness that is alive and fully intact but, in these times, it is surrounded by the darkness of uncertainty and fear.

Sometimes celebrating, enjoying, and laughing seem almost inappropriate in a world as broken as ours. We look around and see panic on the faces of everyone we see. Tragedies become ordinary. How, in good conscience, can we laugh and celebrate and eat pizza? I believe we must celebrate - because celebration is one of the most effective weapons we have against the darkness of our day. The real grief of the state of our world is the pervasive fear that settles in our hearts.

Even as the tiny, temporary lights of city streets, cars, and signs seem to snuff out the powerful stars, so the false lights and values of this world can darken our minds to the grandeur and brilliance of God.

And so the first part of my tale is told, and with it a candle goes out.

Robert and I decided last night that we are going to fight this thing with every ounce of strength that we have, she declared. We will not give in to it as long as the Lord gives us breath. We will fight it minute by minute and hour by hour, Meteor. But we will never give up. Our love and faith will get us through this dark time.

Good always triumphs over evil, even though it can take a while. Light always overcomes darkness, even though it can seem awfully dark.

Blind Willie Johnson. 'Dark Was the Night.

What is the scariest thing that can happen? A child can disappear without a trace. A man could follow you at night. Someone could hide behind your bedroom door. There is a small throw rug in the room. There is a wooden chair by the darkening window. There is someone hiding behind my bedroom door.

Something was afoot. Some one was afoot, for she knew she was not alone. And this had nothing to do with the fearful creatures created by Miss Fionna Josephine Hawkes. Ah, yes, Fionna was a teller of tales, tales of the dark side of the soul, of supernatural beings that transcended belief. Without question, she possessed an imagination most vivid.

Fionna loved the dark, for it lit her mind, her muse; it was truly her inspiration. It fired her imagination as nothing else could. She had never feared the depths of night, not even as a child. She reveled in it, particularly on those moonless nights, when all the world lay closed and sleeping, while she lay awake and dreaming- of legends and myths, and stories yet to be told. That was when her mind came alive, when she came alive.

No, life ends and no, there is nothing elsewhere, and no question now of ever finding again that white speck lost in whiteness, to see if they still lie still in the stress of that storm, or of a worse storm, or in the black dark for good, or the great whiteness unchanging, and if not what they are doing.

What about hanging ourselves? Hmm. It'd give us an erection. An erection! With all that follows. Where it falls mandrakes grow. That's why they shriek when you pull them up. Did you not know that? Let's hang ourselves immediately!

With all this darkness round me I feel less alone.

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,Brother to Death, in silent darkness born.

Power remains strong when it remains in the dark; exposed to the sunlight it begins to evaporate.

In the cups, one after another, glistening disks rose, black without translucence.

Rhythm is the only thing secure. In this darkness, rising, I recall the Pacific stars. This ritual ascendance goes on in a city that has erased them and blurred its sun out altogether. Iron Wolf has something. I want it without the bother of definitions. The dangerous illumination, the light in the exploding eye, is not for this other city.

There is nothing safe about the darkness of this city and its stink. Well, I have abrogated all claim to safety, coming here. It is better to discuss it as though I had chosen. That keeps the scrim of sanity before the awful set. What will lift it?

The sun's rim dips, the stars rush out:At one stride comes the dark;With far-heard whisper o'er the seaOff shot the specter bark.

Forth from his dark and lonely hiding place(Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism,Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,Drops his blue-fringèd lids, and holds them close,And hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven,Cries out, "Where is it?"

The Greasy fucken fat pig that discusses her husbands day drive and he'll eventually cut and eat her fucken heart ad he yells out of anger

From half-dark to half-dark, I read autumn poems in spring. Buson writes about stepping on his dead wife's comb in their dark bedroom. In fact, she outlived him by thirty-one years. The chill from that comb, and the snap of eros and solitude and imagining, all in flower.

The stars were withdrawn, small, giving no light, unlike other nights when they seemed to hang large from the sky ready to be reached for and taken into our hands.