Quotes About Night

The night was dark as pitch or coal. Stupid expressions, thought Pereda. European nights might be pitch-dark or coal-black, but not American nights, which are dark like a void, where there's nothing to hold on to, no shelter from the elements, just empty, storm-whipped space, above and below.

We had contributed. So had his mother and all the other black mothers who wept at night and saw visions of the gates of hell when they should have been asleep.

Marchand dreams that in one magical and endless night the rejected manuscripts make love every way possible with his abandoned manuscript: they sodomize it, rape it orally and genitally, come in its hair, on its body, in its ears, in its armpits, etc., but when morning comes, his manuscript hasn't been fertilized. It's sterile. In that sterility, Marchand believes, lies its uniqueness, its magnetism.

He said that some nights he heard the tom-tom beat of his passion, but he didn't know for sure whether it was really the beat of his passion or of his youth slipping through his fingers, maybe, he added, it's just the beat of poetry, the beat that comes to us all without exception at some mysterious hour, easily missed but absolutely free.

Y después de mucha plática y muchos cigarrillos Angélica y María se durmieron y yo apagué la luz y me metí en la cama y mentalmente le hice el amor a María otra vez.

No podía creer que fuera de noche todavía, que esa incandescencia fuera la noche. Daba lo mismo cerrar los ojos o mantenerlos abiertos.

un poeta latinoamericano que al llegar la noche se echa en su jergón y sueña nn sueño maravilloso que atraviesa países y años un sueño maravilloso que atraviesa enfermedades y ausencias

un tipo con una extraña predisposición a sobrevivir un poeta latinoamericano que al llegar la noche se echa en su jergón y sueña un sueño maravilloso que atraviesa países y años un sueño maravilloso que atraviesa enfermedades y ausencias

No os lo vais a creer, pero ayer por la noche, a eso de las cuatro de la madrugada, vi en la tele una película que era mi biografía o mi autobiografía o un resumen de mis días en el puto planeta Tierra. Me cago en la hostia santa, el susto que me dio casi me hizo que me cayera del sillón.

El Ojo seguía siendo una persona rara y sin embargo asequible, alguien que no imponía su presencia, alguien al que le podías decir adiós en cualquier momento de la noche y él solo te diría adiós, sin un reproche, sin un insulto, una especie de chileno ideal, estoico y mable, un ejemplar que nunca había abandonado mucho en Chile pero que solo allí se podía encontrar.

la noche del DF, una noche que a mí siempre me ha parecido preciosa, generalmente las noches aquí son frescas, brillantes, pero no frías, noches hechas para pasear o para coger, noches hechas para platicar sin apuro.

nuestra relación se iba apagando con la velocidad ¿de qué?, de algo que se apaga muy rápido, las luces de una fábrica al acabar la jornada o mejor las luces de un edificio de oficinas, por ejemplo, presurosas de integrarse en el anonimato de la noche.

The moon is fat and the night air is so pure it seems edible.

What child unable to sleep on a warm summer night hasn't thought he saw Peter Pan's sailing ship in the sky? I will teach you to see that ship.

Nelle notti d'inverno, non ci sarà più la luce dello stralisco? – disse Ganuan, voltandosi a guardare il prato spento. – Però ci saranno le stelle, padre, – disse Madurer.

There is a dead spot in the night, that coldest, blackest time when the world has forgotten evening and dawn is not yet a promise. A time when it is far too early to arise, but so late that going to bed makes small sense.

Our own ambitions and tasks that we set for ourselves, the framework we attempt to impose upon the world, is no more than a shadow of a tree cast across the snow. It will change as the sun moves, be swallowed in the night, sway with the wind, and when the smooth snow vanishes, it will lie distorted upon the uneven earth. But the tree continues to be. Do you understand that?

In the dead of night I stirred. Wakefulness flowed back into me. I was a cup full of sorrow, but that sorrow was stilled, like a pain that abates as long as one does not move.

Be the night. Not the wind that stirs the trees, not even the soundless owl a-wing or the tiny mouse crouched motionless. Be the night that flows over all, touching without being felt. For night is a cat.

There are times when it is comforting to sleep with sunlight on your eyelids. And times when quiet talk at night is better than sleep, no matter how weary you are.

May fortune be kind, and the night gentle.

I copied her silence. After a long time she observed, "Our own ambitions and tasks that we set for ourselves, the framework we attempt to impose upon the world, is no more than a shadow of a tree cast across the snow. It will change as the sun moves, be swallowed in the night, sway with the wind, and when the smooth snow vanishes, it will lie distorted upon the uneven earth. But the tree continues to be. Do you understand that?

But shall we be happy, to say that we live in the dusk rather than in the full night? Shall we rejoice that we shall only suffer, while your offspring will be the ones to know the torments of the damned? Shall this be why we do not act?

Every night, the wind blew. Every morning, we began our task by clearing the previous night's drifted snow.