Quotes About Night

On Sunday night, my husband makes a five-course family dinner.

After I'd preached a message on Sunday night, I'd print it up.

I'm not a night owl, but for Glasto there was no chance I was going to miss a moment. I heard intriguing things about watching the sunrise from the stone circle, so that was on my list.

All architecture is great architecture after sunset; perhaps architecture is really a nocturnal art, like the art of fireworks.

A billion stars go spinning through the night, glittering above your head, But in you is the presence that will be when all the stars are dead.

In the night, I wish to speak with the angel to find out if she recognizes my eyes, if she will ask me: do you see Eden? And I'll reply: Eden burns.

when you go to bed, don't leave bread or milk on the table: it attracts the dead. [sonnet 6]

And those, who come together in the night and are twined in quivering pleasure, are performing a serious work and are heaping up sweetness, depth and force for the song of some coming poet, who will arise to express inexpressible ecstasies

Riding, riding, riding, through the dag, through the night, through the day. And the heart has become so tired, and the longing so vast.

I have faith in nights.

Those who come together in the night time and entwine in swaying delight perform a serious work and gather up sweetness, depth and strength for the song of some poet that is to be, who will rise to tell of unspeakable bliss.

in later years it occasionally happened that I awoke in the night and the stars were so real and advanced so convincingly that I could not understand how people managed to lose so much of the world

If you were to give yourself over to this angel, Rilke tells the reader, some day, some night, the angel's light hands kämen denn … dich ringender zu prüfen, und gingen wie Erzürnte durch das Haus und griffen dich als ob sie dich erschüfen und brächen dich aus deiner Form heraus. would come more fiercely to interrogate you, and rush to seize you blazing like a star, and bend you as if trying to create you, and break you open, out of who you are.

Oh and night: there is night, when a wind full of infinite space gnaws at our faces. Whom would it not remain for - that longed-after, mildly disillusioning presence, which the solitary heart so painfully meets. Is it any less difficult for lovers? But they keep on using each other to hide their own fate.

SONG OF THE SEA Timeless sea breezes, sea-wind of the night: you come for no one; if someone should wake, he must be prepared how to survive you. Timeless sea breezes, that for aeons have blown ancient rocks, you are purest space coming from afar…

The leaves are falling, falling as from far, As if far gardens in the skies were dying; They fall, and never seem to be denying. And in the night the earth, a heavy ball, Into a starless solitude must fall. We all are falling. My own hand no less Than all things else; behold, it is in all. Yet there is One who, utter gentleness, Holds all this falling in His hands to bless.

So much it availed, you coming to him at night; his destiny, tall in its cloak, stepped back behind the cupboard, and his unquiet future, easily shifting, fitted itself into the folds of the curtain.

Time and space are but physiological colors which the eye makes, but the soul is light; where it is, is day; where it was, is night; and history is an impertinence and an injury, if it be any thing more than a cheerful apologue or parable of my being and becoming.

The stars have us to bed: Night draws the curtain; which the sun withdraws. Music

If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God.

The dawn is my Assyria; the sun-set and moon-rise my Paphos, and unimaginable realms of faerie; broad noon shall be my England of the senses and the understanding; the night shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy and dreams.

Sleep lingers all our lifetime about our eyes, as night hovers all day in the boughs of the fir tree.

A mob is a society of bodies voluntarily bereaving themselves of reason, and traversing its work. The mob is man voluntarily descending to the nature of the beast. Its fit hour of activity is night. Its actions are insane like its whole constitution; it persecutes a principle; it would whip a right; it would tar and feather justice, by inflicting fire and outrage upon the houses and persons of those who have these.

He lit the night he brought with the fire that puts out the planets when time ends.