Quotes About Darkness

The Bat that flits at close of Eve Has left the Brain that wont Believe The Owl that calls upon the Night Speaks the Unbelievers fright

To Nobodaddy Why art thou silent & invisible, Father of Jealousy? Why dost thou hide thyself in clouds From every searching Eye? Why darkness & obscurity In all thy works & laws, That none dare eat the fruit but from Thy wily serpent's jaws? Or is it because Secrecy Gains females' loud applause?

The province of the poem is the world. When the sun rises, it rises in the poem and when it sets darkness comes down and the poem is dark

The province of the poem is the world. When the sun rises, it rises in the poem and when it sets darkness comes down and the poem is dark . and lamps are lit, cats prowl and men read, read–or mumble and stare at that which their small lights distinguish or obscure or their hands search out in the dark. The poem moves them or it does not move them. Faitoute, his ears ringing . no sound . no great city, as he seems to read–

I dont hate it he thought, panting in the cold air, the iron New England dark; I dont. I dont! I dont hate it! I dont hate it!

Literature has the same impact as a match lit in the middle of a field in the middle of the night. The match illuminates relatively little, but it enables us to see how much darkness surrounds it.

probably by that time he had learned that there were three things and no more: breathing, pleasure, darkness; and without money there could be no pleasure, and without pleasure it would not even be breathing but mere protoplasmic inhale and collapse of blind unorganism in a darkness where light never began.

Oíamos la oscuridad.

At night it is better still. I used to lie on the pallet in the hall waiting until I could hear them all asleep, so I could get up and go back to the bucket. It would be black, the shelf black, the still surface of the water a round orifice in nothingness, where before I stirred it awake with the dipper I could see maybe a star or two in the bucket, and maybe in the dipper a star or two before I drank. After that I was bigger, older.

Man must have light. He must live in the fierce full constant glare of light, where all shadow will be defined and sharp and unique and personal: the shadow of his own singular rectitude or baseness. All human evils have to come out of obscurity and darkness, where there is nothing to dog man constantly with the shape of his own deformity.

There was something terrible in me sometimes at night I could see it grinning at me I could see it through them grinning at me through their faces it's gone now and I'm sick

He says it harshly, savagely, but he does not say the word. Like a little boy in the dark to flail his courage and suddenly aghast into silence by his own noise.

Lo que hace la literatura es lo mismo que una cerilla en medio de un campo en mitad de la noche. Una cerilla no ilumina apenas nada, pero nos permite ver cuánta oscuridad hay a su alrededor.

no man ever does that under the first fury of despair or remorse or bereavement he does it only when he has realised that even the despair or remorse or bereavement is not particularly important to the dark diceman

I have but one rift in the darkness, that is that I have injured no one save myself by my folly, and that the extent of that folly you will never learn.

Our windows were dark. The entrance was empty. I walked close to the left wall when I entered, but it was empty: just the stairs curving up into shadows echoes of feet in the sad generations like light dust upon the shadows, my feet waking them like dust, lightly to settle again. I

Adesso, affacciato alla finestra, sente soltanto gli immensi, interminabili insetti, respira il caldo, immobile, ricco odore maculato della terra, pensando a quanto, da giovane, da ragazzo, amava l'oscurità, a come la notte camminava oppure si sedeva fra gli alberi. Allora il terreno, la corteccia degli alberi, tutto diventava vero, ricco, selvaggio, evocava strani e minacciosi mezzi piaceri, mezzi terrori. Ne aveva paura. Lo spaventava; amava aver paura.

Koridorun sonuna dönüyorum, f?s?lt? taburlar? gibi sessizlikte kaybolan ayaklar? uyand?ra uyand?ra benzine doÄŸru, saat karanl?k masan?n üstünde öfkeli yalan?n? söylemekte. Sonra perdeler karanl?ktan yüzüme doÄŸru üflüyorlar, soluklar?n? yüzüme b?rak?yorlar. Çeyrek var daha.

He went on down the hill toward the dark woods within which the liquid silver voices of the birds called unceasing- the rapid and urgent beating o the urgent and quiring heart of the late spring night. He did not look back.

They have thundered past now and crashed silently on into the dusk; night has finally come. Yet he still sits at the study window, the street lamp at the corner flickers and glares, so that the bitter shadows of the unwinded maples seem to toss faintly upon the August darkness.

The dead air shapes the dead earth in the dead darkness, further away than seeing shapes the dead earth. It lies dead and warm upon me, touching me naked through my clothes. I said You dont know what worry is. I dont know what it is. I dont know whether I am worrying or not. Whether I can or not. I dont know whether I can cry or not. I dont know whether I have tried to or not. I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth.

El que fa la literatura és el mayeix que un llumí enmig d'un camp en plena nit. Un llumí amb prou feines il·lumina, però ens permet veure quanta foscor hi ha al voltant.

Gal b?tent t? akimirk?, kai mes suprantame, sutinkame su tuo, kad egzistuoja blogio logika, mes ir numirštame.

O que a literatura faz é o mesmo que acender um fósforo no campo no meio da noite. Um fósforo não ilumina nada, mas permite ver quanta escuridão existe ao redor.