Quotes About Darkness

our comfort or discomfort with the outer dark is a good barometer of how we feel about the inner kind.

Instead, I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again, so that there is really only one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light.

here is the testimony of faith: darkness is not dark to God; the night is as bright as the day.

how do we develop the courage to walk in the dark if we are never asked to practice?

when we run from darkness, how much do we really know about what we are running from? If we turn away from darkness on principle, doing everything we can to avoid it because there is simply no telling what it contains, isn't there a chance that what we are running from is God?

Without benefit of maturity or therapy, I had no way of knowing that the darkness was as much inside me as it was outside me, or that I had any power to affect its hold on me.

Greenspan calls this "spiritual bypassing"—using religion to dodge the dark emotions instead of letting it lead us to embrace those dark angels as the best, most demanding spiritual teachers we may ever know.

Tell mea tale from the days when shadow cloaked the land, when the Dark Crystal and its missing shard had not yet been reunited.

The future was something I had resolutely ignored. If didn't put my full attention to the day at hand, I was afraid that the impenetrable dark on the horizon would engulf me

Puffs of dust-scented air wafted around my ankles. The narrow wooden steps disappeared into yawning darkness, and even when I turned on the light, it wasn't particularly inviting. I hate basements—spiders and water bugs and the possibility of creepy, supernatural things lurking.

Mark Twain had written somewhere: We are all mad at night.

We are all mad at three in the morning

The lamps are going out all over Europe; we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.

In Whitehall that evening, Sir Edward Grey, standing with a friend at the window as the street lamps below were being lit, made the remark that has since epitomized the hour: "The lamps are going out all over Europe; we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.

As a writer, I will go down any dark alley, inch my way through the tightest crawl space, and feed on your every fear. I will take your sense of calm and tear it to shreds. - Horror Author Barbara Watkins

Ah, the joy of loving a sleeping thing! All true lovers know that wonder. Sleep is a great magician. His spells are woven in the darkness between the worlds; His philtres are made of herbs that grow by the great river of forgetfulness which flows by the throne of the All-knowing.

There are horrors out here—far worse than the horrors on earth.

I was dead for eight minutes, and much to my dismay there were no ascending rivers of light or descending angelic hosts including everybody I'd ever loved or any of those things. That wasn't happening. In fact all that was happening was just stone black darkness. I told Weir about it and he said, "well you just weren't dead enough." Always this criticism.

It was, however, the long, long nights, far more than the wonderful days, which impregnated my future--the dark, still nights full of hints and fine transitions, shadowy terrors, fleeting visions and marvelous dreams.

Death is the tyrant of the imagination.

Our senses are woefully limited. Our brains are but tiny candles flickering in an infinity of darkness. Our only wisdom is to admit that we cannot understand, and since we cannot understand we must do the best we can with faith. which is our only talent. The greatest act of faith we are capable of is that of loving another more than we love ourselves, and occasionally we can be quite good at it.

real beauty is so deep you have to move into darkness to understand it.

No culture has yet solved the dilemma each has faced with the growth of a conscious mind: how to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in all life, when one finds darkness not only in one's own culture but within oneself.

Jazz hadn't given her many details of exactly what life in the Dent house had been like, but he'd told her enough that she knew it wasn't hearts and flowers. Well, except for the occasional heart cut from a chest. And the kind of flowers you send to funerals.