Quotes About Twilight

And the eye adjusts itself to a twilight Where the dead stone is seen to be batrachian, The aphyllous branch ophidian.

The sun was almost gone, and soon it would be the night. And then night forever. But not quite yet.

The promise was a strong tie, hard, but I knew where I stood. If it's gone, I don't know where I am. When there's a strong scent in the spring twilight, I know least of all.

with the sun sliding out of the sky like spit off a wall . . .

Because that's what heaven is...it's opening the door of a house in twilight and everyone you love is there.

It didn't occur to him to make allowances for the long English twilight. That twilight gave to the landscape a curious effect of suspended life. It cast upon everything (or was that, perhaps, the beer?) an eerie, magical bloom. Every mile that he went - and now he was hurrying - he felt surer and surer that he was on the verge of some shattering experience.

For, he (The Devil) observed, the issue of the great battle of Good and Evil had been otherwise settled, as he would presently show him. "It wants but a few moments of night," he continued, "and over this interval of twilight, as you know, I have been given complete control. Look to the West.("The Legend of Monte Del Diablo")

The day lingered and the last calls of the last birds sounded, in a flushed sky, from the old trees.

Twilight hour. Indian blue, water of glass, trees glistening and liquescent.

Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour.

So far gone am I in the dark side of earth, that its other side, the theoretic bright one, seems but uncertain twilight to me.

Misconceptions about Young Adult fiction aren't new to fans of the genre. From being dismissed as mindless fluff for 'Twilight'-obsessed tweens, to constant warnings that the genre is dying, kerfuffles between the media and readers occur with alarming regularity.

Well, I never got into the young adult headspace. With 'Twilight,' they are pretty adult themes, aside from maybe the first one, but even that. They're very adult themes, actually, particularly as the characters age. I never wrote for young adults. I wrote for myself, as an audience.

The moon had never been as bright as the shine it was granting the sky with, committing every moment until sunrise.

I think there are worse things for a teen to be enraptured with than 'Twilight.'

As I understand it, the Celts venerated all sorts of plexus-type things: the seashore, dawn, dusk, the edge of the forest - anything that was neither here nor there, so to speak.

Twilight, again. Another ending. No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end.

A symbolic unity formed by the languor of the fluids, by the darkening of the animal spirits and the shadowy twi­light they spread over the images of things, by the viscosity of the blood that laboriously trickles through the vessels, by the thickening of vapors that have become blackish, deleterious, and acrid, by visceral functions that have be­come slow and somehow slimy-this unity, more a product of sensibility than of thought or theory, gives melancholia its characteristic stamp.

I hated as hard as I could. I thought about Nazis. Air pollution. The Twilight books. Bill O'Reilly (beginner's mistake; political hate is notoriously hard to channel). Calculus.

The toads bellowed mournfully, and the twilight was enrobing the professor. Here it was… the night. Moscow… white lamps turning on somewhere outside… Lost and miserable, Pankrat stood fearfully at attention, arms at his sides…

Miserable, I paced up and down the twilit study. When I came up to the lamp I caught sight of the reflection of my pale face and of the light of the lamp in the window set against the boundless darkness of the fields. 'I'm like Dmitry the Pretender—nothing but a sham,' I thought stupidly and sat down at the table again.

When twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love, I watch the star whose beam so oft Has lighted me to thee, love.

Didn't you tie the mittens on her feet (Wednesday Evening's) extra special nice? Yes--she is an extra special nice pigeon. She cries for pity when she wants pity. And she shuts her eyes when she doesn't want to look at you. And if you look deep in her eyes when her eyes are open you will see lights there exactly like the lights on the pastures and the meadows when the mist is drifting on a Wednesday evening just between the twilight and gloaming.

It was that halcyon hour when the Angelus falls like a benediction upon the waning day. Far off the notes were sounding gently, and nature, now that she listened, seemed to have paused also. A scarlet–breasted robin was hopping in short spaces upon the grass before her. A humming bee hummed, a cow–bell tinkled, while some suspicious cracklings told of a secretly reconnoitering squirrel.