Quotes About Dark

How it infuriates a bigot, when he is forced to drag out his dark convictions!

The heart can be a mysterious organ, the heart and its movements. Dark, the Spanish call it. The dark heart, el oscuro cotazón. Are you sure you are not just a little dark-hearted, Paul, despite your many good intentions?

A good person. Not a bad resolution to make, in dark times.

John? As it was dark he whistled a what. You are such a male of worth, you know that. You really are.

You can stay home," V muttered. "You really can totally f-in' stay the f home, you f'ed-up mother-f'ing f-twit." Lassiter clasped his breastplate, and swooned like Julie Andrews. "Don't you love it when he can't swear? Warms my cockles—it's like watching a drunk on roller skates try to play dodgeball in the dark—

Matter of fact, when it came to manscaping, all he had was a dark stripe that ran between his belly button and his... You know, maybe size did matter, she thought.

Sometimes kindness and love could be just as difficult as violence to witness. Sometimes, when you were on the outside looking in, watching two in-sync people was a scene from a horror film, the kind of thing that you wanted to look away from, forget about, banish the memory of - especially when you were about to go to bed for the day and facing hours upon hours of being alone in the dark. The knowledge that she would never have that special love with anyone was-

John?" she said. As it was dark, he whistled a What? "You are such a male of worth, you know that. You really are." She reached up and cupped his face. It happened so fast, he couldn't believe it. Later, he would play and replay everything over and over again, stretching out the moment endlessly, reliving it and taking a strange kind of nourishment from the memory, again and again.

He felt the comfort of being part of an eternal cycle symbolized by the gold strips on either side of the black mourning band he wore. Light, dark, light. The dark was just an interval.

Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods. Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt. But there's music in us. Hope is pushed down but the angel flies up again taking us with her.

And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? Who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? Who is there in the rain's million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, September rain, September rain, so dark and soft? Who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?

I never dwelt on the dark farcical furious real life of this roaring working world, wow.

poor examples because of mechanical needs of typing, of the flow of river sounds, words, dark, leading to the future and attesting to the madness, hollowness, ring and roar of my mind which blessed or unblessed is where trees sing -- in a funny wind -- well-being believes he'll go to heaven -- a word to the wise is enough -- 'Smart went Crazy

It was three children of the earth trying to decide something in the night and having all the weight of the past centuries ballooning in the dark before them

It was sad to see his tall figure receding in the dark as we drove away, just like the other figures in New York and New Orleans: they stand uncertainly underneath immense skies, and everything about them is drowned. Where go? what do? what for?—sleep. But this foolish gang was bending onward.

It was 3 children of the earth trying to decide something in the night and having all the weight of past centuries balooning in the dark before them.

Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway. The trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they seemed to lean towards each other, black and ominous, in the fading light.

And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through him. And his cadences were their cadences, the cadences which voiced their woe and what to them was the meaning of the stiffness, and the cold, and dark.

It's the word 'artful'; it's such a great word, with its dark and its light side, its art and its cunning, the craft and the crafty of it - I've been preoccupied with the word 'artful' and the twin notions of 'cornucopia' and 'pickpocket' it suggests for quite some time.

'Twin Peaks' is my favorite show of all time.

I'd describe 'Born to Kill' as a 'study in psychopathy', it's very much in the heads of our main protagonist, Sam, a young boy dealing with dark, twisted psychotic desires. It's also a coming-of-age story.

I'm just a crazy person. I mean, I really didn't have any trouble coming up with weird ways for people to die. I think I'm just very twisted!

I think I have a pattern of nice and lovely and then dark and twisted.

I read 'Rebecca' when I was a teenager and was swept away by the powerful voice, the gut wrenching suspense and the dark, twisted love story at its center.