Quotes About Darkness

Into the dark matter I will disappear But still I go deeper into the labyrinth I don't know if it is the labyrinth of the continuum Who, what, is it that I leave to you?

The words moved out into the darkness hovered like butterflies somehow freestanding I heard the abyss breathing

The stream of love breaks down Fluid lightning The flash of vibrating being But also the flash of darkness The light of Beatrice's eyes, their lightning flash How am I to understand this? How to understand unknowing That I do not!

Alas, God's poor ministers are just as much in the dark as we are. You must believe like old women believe, the ones that look like witches, who mumble to themselves in churches under the nose of cheap, plaster saints. As soon as you start to use your reason, to look for a rainbow, you always run up against the great excuse, mystery. You will be advised to light some candles, put coins in the box, say a few rosaries, and make yourself stupid.

The night itself is riddled with her, wide with her, and alive with her. It seems that it has no word or other traveler, no other secret sign.

The night itself is riddled with her, wide with her, and alive with her.

Todo lo que Dios creó tiene un diseño unitario, por lo que cada parte influye sobre el conjunto y cada sombra tiene una repercusión de oscuridad sobre todo el resto.

Maybe our fear of intimacy is rooted in our fear of the dark, especially the deep dark within, the great unknown. We perceive our inner darkness as a void, an emptiness that fills us with anxiety. We try to stuff this black hole instead of realizing that we are the black hole and that its emptiness is actually a fathomless freedom.

Sometimes things seem so unbearable in the middle of the night, don't they? In the middle of the night, we're all such children.

A good man is hard to find," she says finally. "Do you mean the O'Connor story? The one on your desk. It's an awfully dark thing to bring up at a time like this." "No, I mean you. I've been looking forever. It was only two trains and a boat away.

If this were Raymond Carver, you'd offer me some meager comfort and darkness would set in and all this would be over. But this . . . is feeling more like a novel to me after all. Emotionally, I mean.

Your music is the music of death.

The wild, dark lords of Moonlight Square definitely made up their own dangerous breed. They fit right in with the haunted atmosphere that still lingered in this place, as though they were drawn to it. Each an island of gloom and brooding isolation unto himself, they drifted through Society like great, ominous thunderheads, crackling with the tension of pent-up lightning and liable to rage into a storm at any moment.

Meanwhile, the question is not whether we should 'lose ourselves' - since all do so in one way or another - but where we lose ourselves: in light or in darkness, in good dreams or in nightmares, in truth or in falsehood.

And yet I sensed that I had not just been pummeled by death but reshaped by it, poised now at some crucial junction between darkness and endurance, which is the realist's version of hope.

You look at me with eyes that see only honor and gallantry. The truth is darker yet. Being Sonja means being called to darkness and pain. And knowing that you have the power to alter and take the lives of many. A great many. And praying to the gods that you always choose the right side.

Sometimes I felt like I would go insane not having the answers to such simple questions. Of course, it was always hardest during the night, then the darkness stole away any signs of hope.

Sometimes I felt like I would go insane not having the answers to such simple questions. Of course, it was always hardest during the night, when the darkness stole away any signs of hope.

After Laura leaves, I pick up the recorder on the nightstand and play a short melody Howard once taught me. "It's basically just six notes repeated," he told me. "The simple power of music."...... ..."Then I listen in the darkness for the familiar sounds, knowing everything has changed.

In the half darkness we look at each otherand smileand touch arms across his little, startlingly muscled body—this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making,sleeper only the mortal sounds can awake,this blessing love gives again into our arms.

What do they sing, the last birds coasting down the twilight, banking across woods filled with darkness, their frayed wings curved on the world like a lover's arms which form, night after night, in sleep, an irremediable absence?

Mas luego a la memoria se m'ofrece aquella noche tenebrosa, escura, que siempre aflige esta anima mezquina con la memoria de mi desventura: verte presente agora me parece en aquel duro trance de Lucina; y aquella voz divina, con cuyo son y acentos a los airados vientos pudieran amansar, que agora es muda, me parece que oigo, que a la cruda, inexorable diosa demandabas en aquel paso ayuda; y tú, rústica diosa, ¿dónde estabas?

I'm the one who steps from the shadows, all trenchcoat and cigarette and arrogance, ready to deal with the madness. Oh, I've got it all sewn up. I can save you. If it takes the last drop of your blood, I'll drive your demons away. I'll kick them in the bollocks and spit on them when they're down and then I'll be gone back into darkness, leaving only a nod and a wink and a wisecrack. I walk my path alone... who would walk with me?

Sometimes it is easier to see the light when you stand partly in the darkness.