Quotes About Shadows

The hard bed, the stool beside it, the stark cross on the wall, each cast shadows. Only the man in the bed seemed shadowless. He was the stillest thing in the room.

The pine shadows moved across my blanket, the wall behind me. People were just like that. We couldn't even see each other, just the shadows moving, pushed by unseen winds.

It gets late early out there.

I didn't know I was doing film noir, I thought they were detective stories with low lighting!

The day had darkened an f-stop or two.

there isn't shame in having shadows - we all have them to varying degrees. it's simply a part of being human

Red like blood White like bone Red like solitude White like silence Red like the beastly instinct White like a god's heart Red like thawing hatred White like a frozen, pained cry Red like the night's hungry shadows Like a sigh piercing the moon it shines white and shatters red

Some things don't pass, the injuries don't heal they merely find a place in our guts and in our bones where they fitfully rest, tossing and turning between our knuckles and ribs waiting to wake as the shadows grow long.

Out of the unreal shadows of night comes back the real life that we had known. We have to resume it where we had left off... p 207

There was a silence. The evening darkened in the room. Noiselessly and with silver feet the shadows crept in from the garden. The colours faded wearily out of things.

They walked softly, as men do instinctively at night. The lamp cast fantastic shadows on the wall and staircase. A rising wind made some of the windows rattle.

now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.

There was a rustle of chirruping sparrows in the green lacquer leaves of the ivy, and the blue cloud-shadows chased themselves across the grass like swallows.

te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Oh, beloved, and there is nothing but shadows where you accompany me in your dreams and tell me the hour of light.

No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go, we will go together, over the waters of time. No one else will travel through the shadows with me, only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.

And the heart sounds like a sour conch, calls, oh sea, oh lament, oh molten panic, scattered in the unlucky and disheveled waves: the sea reports sonorously on its languid shadows, its green poppies.

Nunca ame sino sombras que transforme en estatuas y no sabia yo que no vivia Mi orgullo me iba transformando en piedra, hasta que tu, Rosia, despertando desnuda, despertaste mi sangre y mis deberes.

only do not forget, if i wake up crying it's only because in my dream i'm a lost child hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands and there is nothing but shadows where you accompany me in your dreams and tell me the hour of light

Because while life harasses us, love is only a wave taller than the other waves: but oh, when death comes knocking at the gate, there is only your glance against so much emptiness, only your light against extinction, only your love to shut out the shadows.

Ti amo come si amano certe cose oscure, segretamente, tra l'ombra e l'anima.

I wish nights like this weren't so fragile and slippery and impossible to nail down for study in one's leisure. But the really great nights pass through you like whispers or shadows. They shimmer, but don't adhere.

And then he left the palace to roam the streets of Ombria, where he painted shadows as he searched for light within them, painted thick, barred doors, as he searched in their hewn, scarred grains for what it was they hid, painted high windowless walls as if, rebuilding them stone by stone on paper, he could dismantle them and finally see the secret life behind the real.

Along the banks of the river Arno, I scramble, breathless Ã¢â'¬Â¦ turning left onto Via dei Castellani, making my way northward, huddling in the shadows of the Uffizi.