Quotes About Night

Como quando se tosse nas garagens à noite, pensei, e se sente o peso insuportável da própria solidão, nas orelhas, sob a forma de estampidos reboantes, (...).

Werner wonders in the dead of night, isn't life a kind of corruption? A child is born, and the world sets in upon it.

The moon sets and the eastern sky lightens, the hem of night pulling away, taking stars with it one by one until only two are left.

The stars were so many and so white they looked like chips of ice, hammered through the fabric of the sky.

Those last nights in Paris, walking home with her father at midnight, the huge book clasped against her chest, Marie-Laure thinks she can sense a shiver beneath the air, in the pauses between the chirring of the insects, like the spider cracks of ice when too much weight is set upon it. As if all this time the city has been no more than a scale model built by her father and the shadow of a great hand has fallen over it.

A corner of the night sky, beyond a wall of trees, blooms red. In the lurid, flickering light, he sees that the airplane was not alone, that the sky teems with them, a dozen swooping back and forth, racing in all directions, and in a moment of disorientation, he feels that he's looking not up but down, as though a spotlight has been shined into a wedge of bloodshot water, and the sky has become the sea, and the airplanes are hungry fish, harrying their prey in the dark.

They cross the Channel at midnight. There are twelve and they are named for songs: Stardust and Stormy Weather and In the Mood and Pistol-Packin' Mama. The sea glides along far below, spattered with the countless chevrons of whitecaps. Soon enough, the navigators can discern the low moonlit lumps of islands ranged along the horizon.

The sky a pit of violet, edged with black.

He feels only the raw, impassive surge of the moonlight as it strikes the tent above him and scatters.

Her fingers travel back to the cathedral spire. South to the Gate of Dinan. All evening she has been marching her fingers around the model, waiting for her great-uncle Etienne, who owns this house, who went out the previous night while she slept, and who has not returned. And now it is night again, another revolution of the clock, and the whole block is quiet, and she cannot sleep.

Starlight rains onto every crenellation.

Beyond the broken window hangs a windless night. Ashes swirling in starlight.

A spark in the night.

What light shines at night! He never knew. Light will blind him.

Toutes ces fenêtres dans le noir... C'est comme si la ville était devenue une bibliothèque de livres écrits dans une langue inconnue : et les maisons, des rayonnages de volumes devenus illisibles en l'absence de lumière. Mais il y a cette machine au grenier, qui fonctionne de nouveau. Une étincelle dans la nuit.

Bastian speaks to a horror of any sort of corruption, and yet, Werner wonders in the dead of night, isn't life a kind of corruption?

Somewhere in the ruins above them, the cats are howling.

the goddess spiraled down from the night. She had a white body, gray wings, and a bright orange mouth like a beak, and although she was not as large as I expected a goddess to be, I became afraid. She landed on her yellow feet and took a few steps and began picking at a pile of seaweed.

They would not get closer to the truth that night. They watched a period of hockey in silence. Winkler insisted on doing the dishes. Herman insisted on driving him to the bus stop.

The wheeling of the night on its silent trunnions.

Now it was dark. The airplane descended over Chicago, its galaxy of electric lights, the vast neighborhoods coming clearer as the plane glided toward the airport--streetlights, headlights, stacks of buildings, ice rinks, a truck turning at a stoplight, scraps of snow atop a warehouse and winking antennae on faraway hills, finally the long converging parallels of blue runway lights, and they were down.

In the twilight the Americans brought gin and tonics to the beach and rented pedal-boats shaped like giant swans. They trolled night crawlers from their bamboo poles, sipped their drinks and nodded to the lovers who paddled among them, spellbound, all of them, in the tangerine dusk.

I will become invisible, he thinks. I will work only at night. I will be so careful they will never suspect me; I will be like the swallows on their gutter, the insects in their lawn, concealed, a scavenger, part of the scenery. When the trees shift in the wind, so I will shift, and when rain falls I will fall too. It will be a kind of disappearing.

A spring night is a power that sweeps through the crowded sheaves of blooming tulips and pours into your heart like a river.