Quotes About Darkness

Marty coughed and spat a dark mass. Tears burned his eyes. The darkness grew darker. "No... help me!" And then

All knowing darkens as it builds. The grass is a mirror that clouds as the bright look goes in. You stay in the night, you squat in the hills in the cave of night. Wait. Above, luminous rubble, torn webs of radio signals. Below, stone scrapers, neck bone of a deer, salt beds. The world is ending.

Forget, too, the lamb-y, metaphor-male, the groinless, bourgeois Jesus, with his Easter-egg, candy-store-window eyes ogling the cruciform crosspiece of his eyebrows. If you meet such a Christ on the way, kill him. Do you wish to love? Do you wish to love? Leave love. Love nothing. Life is dark; life is dark at the no-place of the shocked heart cut two by the bone-handled, thrice-bladed Word.

You were chased here by darkness. Listen to the curve of the hills, the guttering voice. The way to anywhere leads through humiliation. There are only animal trails.

Nothing helps. I'm a black spot on the chest X-ray of the universe.

As the three of us walked, we caught the occasional glimpse of a shambling thing lurking in an alley or dark eyes peering through broken shutters in an abandoned building, but we made sure not to disturb them and they in turn didn't seek to devour our souls. A good arrangement all the way around, as far as I was concerned.

There are worse things than death in this town and they're usually standing a few inches behind you, ready to reach out and grab you when you least expect it.

Evil dies tonight!

That eye... was like a fuckin hole in the universe

Hartwell was not going down without a fight, but if the elements finally beat him, he wanted a record of his struggle; maybe it would serve as a warning to some future nester. The problem with history was that it was written by the survivors, and they usually wrote in the sunshine, on harvest day, from victory stands. So Hartwell started his diary at the darkest hour.

Dark means DARK. "They've done studies where they shine a laser on the back of someone's knee, and people pick it up. It's light. You cannot have your phone in your room. You cannot have a TV in your room. It needs to be black, black as night.

They waited. The door did not open. The rain did not stop. The darkness made a tent and covered them completely.

The day had darkened an f-stop or two.

I think of how the mystics read by the light of their own bodies. What a world of darkness that must have been to read by the flaming hearts that turn into heaps of ash on the altar, how everything in the end is made equal by the wind. — Timothy Liu, from "Vox Angelica," The New Young American Poets (Southern Illinois University, 2000

Only when we learn experientially the truth that there is a "light that shines in the darkness" (John 1:5), and that to be "within" is above all to encounter the personal presence, the love and healing of our Savior, does this resistance begin to diminish.

But they simply didn't know Sammy in the late hours, all his virulent bedtime prayers whispered away into his folded hands, releasing his worry and anxiety over the sinful so he could sleep well and fight the devil again in the daylight. And, easefully and kindly, he'd hold Abby in his arms, becoming just as lost as everyone else, just as blind in the dark.

Beyond manipulation itself there was no object or subject of politics. There was only the darkness that is consummate when gifted minds such as Schmitt's cloak evil with unreason.

Natural for you, perfectly natural," the Professor whispered. "Natural to refuse the key that is given. To be blind in the darkness of knowing. To be filled with a dark light that we must shine on the people around us. A light that makes us weep and pull down our own houses.

War is not heroic. War is not exhilarating. War is full of despair. It is dark. It is dreadful. It is a thing of sorrow and gloom. That is why people fear war. That is why people choose to avoid it. ~Izuru Kira

Viene la notte, la notte scura, piena di cose che fanno paura, di sogni fasulli, di incubi veri, di sangue di morte e di uomini neri... Non serve gridare, non serve fuggire, l'unica cosa da fare è morire...

Bisognava entrare nei recessi di quello straordinario palazzo al buio, e solo lentamente scoprire, nella luce tramolante delle lampade al burro, le smorfie delle ogre e i sorrisi benevoli dei Buddha. Il neon pra impedisce ogni scoperta, tarpa le ali a chi voglia ancora abbandonarsi ai voli dello spirito.

Cloaked there in that petrified darkness, crammed shoulder to shoulder with the breath of their fear on her neck, she learned that coward was often only another name for survivor.

She killed her sons first. Hammering a long fence nail through each of their hearts. Then, taking an ax, she methodically beheaded each one of her brothers-in-law. Going out to the pens, she drove the livestock into the barn, bolting it shut, and while the goat kids and spring lambs panicked and brayed, she put all the buildings to flame.

out all other thoughts. My vision narrowed, darkness pushing in from the edges. My heart raced. A high-pitched ring pulsed in my ears. Searing pain infused my nose