Quotes About Night

Last night I weaved dreams from the cobwebs of time!

It is inevitable that there will come a time when mankind will go out more at night and stay indoors during the day to avoid harmful solar rays.

Sunsets.The illusion either above the horizon or below it. When day and night are linked in a way that cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time.

A single night is stuffed with minutes, but they leak out, one by one.

It's true though: time moves in its own special way in the middle of the night, " the bartender says, loudly striking a book match and lighting a cigarette. "You can't fight it.

we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.

I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each other's dreams, we can play together all night.

Muses work all day long and then at night get together and dance.

Our wedding night, she whispered, and dreams were reborn as she rested her face against his neckcloth.

She looked her usual calm, dignified self—but he had learned last night, if he had not suspected it before, that she had had long practice donning this particular mask.

Do these people not know that civilized living ought not to start before noon or end before four in the morning?

Elizabeth slept for the rest of the night, somewhat comforted by her decision to do something.

If I were to touch you, I might find it impossible not at least to try to ravish you. It is a dreadful fate to be a notorious rake, Diana. We have so little self-control when confronted with beautiful ladies inside secluded buildings in the dead of night and in the middle of a storm.

Henry was a girl of some intelligence. She recognized a superior intellect and a more powerful will when she met them. It was just that she had never met either until she had deliberately run against the hard wall of Eversleigh's body the night before.

The new moon would soon leave little light to navigate by.

The trick in that town was getting through a night at all without stalling in the sludge of your own thoughts.

It was the night before my parents and Gardiner were to arrive. "I'm bored. Let's go for a drive." Ruth jumped up and ran down the stairs with Millie and me trailing along behind. We followed her out to the barn, which had once held racehorses but now housed Papa's "island cars"—a disreputable-looking collection of automobiles that had outlived their useful lives back at home in Boston but were

There are things you can't reach. But You can reach out to them, and all day long. The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of god. And it can keep you busy as anything else, and happier. I look; morning to night I am never done with looking. Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around As though with your arms open.

EVERY DOG'S STORY I have a bed, my very own. It's just my size. And sometimes I like to sleep alone with dreams inside my eyes. But sometimes dreams are dark and wild and creepy and I wake and am afraid, though I don't know why. But I'm no longer sleepy and too slowly the hours go by. So I climb on the bed where the light of the moon is shining on your face and I know it will be morning soon. Everybody needs a safe place.

Owl Poem One has to say this for the rounds of life that keep coming and going; it has worked so far. The rabbit, after all, has never asked if the grass wanted to live. Any more than the owl consults with the rabbit. Acceptance of the world requires that I bow even to you, Master of the night.

Sleep comes its little while. Then I wake in the valley of midnight or three a.m. to the first fragrances of spring which is coming, all by itself, no matter what. My heart says, what you thought you have you do not have. My body says, will this pounding ever stop? My heart says: there, there, be a good student. My body says: let me up and out, I want to fondle those soft white flowers, open in the night.

Every night the owl with his wild monkey-face calls through the black branches, and the mice freeze and the rabbits shiver in the snowy fields— and then there is the long, deep trough of silence when he stops singing, and steps into the air.

All night the dark buds of dreams open richly. In the center of every petal is a letter, and you imagine if you could only remember and string them all together they would spell the answer.

the black fox that lies down to sleep beneath you, the moon staring with her bone-white eye