Quotes About Night

When the dawn was still long hours away, bad thoughts took on flesh and began to walk. In the middle of the night thoughts became zombies.

And all around them, the bestiality of the night rises on tenebrous wings. The vampire's time has come.

the year she had run fleetly through the dewy grass under the moon- the night of wine, when dreams condensed out of thin air like the nightmilk of fantasy.

And she sees that the moonlight is losing its orange glow. It has become buttery, and will soon turn to silver.

He rolled in his bed, twisting the sheets, grappling with a problem years too big for him, awake in the night like a single sentinel on picket. And sometime after midnight, he slept, too, and then only the wind was awake, prying at the hotel and hooting in its gables under the bright gimlet gaze of the stars.

M-O-O-N Spells moon

Even a zombie lurching through the night can seem pretty cheerful compared to the existential comedy/horror of the ozone layer dissolving under the combined assault of a million fluorocarbon spray cans of deodorant.

When dawn was still long hours away, bad thoughts took flesh and began to walk. In the middle of the night thoughts became zombies.

Overhead was a sky blacker than jewlers' velvet, and a billion stars screamed down...

Even today I'm not above writing slightly more sophisticated versions of [I Was a Teenage Graverobber]; I was built with a love of the night and the unquiet coffin, that's all. If you disapprove, I can only shrug my shoulders. It's what I have.

I felt comfortable as only one can on such a night, when all is miserable outside and all is warmth and comfort inside.

At night your thoughts have an unpleasant way of slipping their collars and running free.

When machines fail, when technology fails, when the conventional religion fails, people have got to have something. Even a zombin lurching through the night can seem pretty cheerful compared to the existential comedy/horror of the ozone layer dissolving under the combined assult of a million flurocarbon spray cans of deoderant. - The Mist

At three in the morning the blood runs slow and thick, and slumber is heavy. The soul either sleeps in blessed ignorance of such an hour or gazes about itself in utter despair. There is no middle ground

The night was cold, chilling the sweat on his face, but the air was as sweet and crisp as the first bite of a fall apple. Above him was a half-moon and what seemed like a trillion stars. To match the trillion pebbles, just as mysterious, that we walk over everyday, he thought. Mystery above, mystery below. Weight, mass, reality: mystery all around.

Bill could smell Its breath and it was a smell like exploded animals lying on the highway at midnight.

At three in the morning the gaudy paint is off that old whore, the world, and she has no nose and a glass eye. Gaiety becomes hollow and brittle, as in Poe's castle surrounded by the Red Death. Horror is destroyed by boredom. Love is a dream.

He felt awe as he looked up at those stars, but also a deep and abiding contentment, such as he had felt as a child, awakening in the night, safe and warm beneath his quilt, drowsing half in and half out of sleep, listening to the wind sing its lonely song of other places and other lives.

When you couldn't sleep, when you were afraid to look around because of what you might see, time elongated and grew sharp teeth.

I was built with a love of the night and the unquiet coffin, that's all.

Hugh stretched out one hand and stroked the fur. It felt cold and rich, it crackled with silky static electricity. Stroking it was like stroking a clear autumn night.

When your dreams are clearer and stronger than your sleep, night becomes a mere extension of day

I think so muchmay be it never endswhen this night endsthere's another at handI sleep with oneand wake with onewith everything else onthis life goes on.

Some mysteries bite and barkand come to get you in the dark.