Quotes About Night

The night below. We two. Crystal of pain. You wept over great distances. My ache was a clutch of agonies over your sickly heart of sand.

The night above. We two. Full moon. I started to weep, you laughed. Your scorn was a god, my laments moments and doves in a chain. The night below. We two. Crystal of pain. You wept over great distances. My ache was a clutch of agonies over your sickly heart of sand. Dawn married us on the bed, our mouths to the frozen spout of unstaunched blood. The sun came through the shuttered balcony and the coral of life opened its branches over my shrouded heart. - Night of Sleepless Love

With their souls of patent leather, they come down the road. Hunched and nocturnal, where they breathe they impose, silence of dark rubber, and fear of fine sand.

I will not see it!Tell the moon to comefor I do not want to see the bloodof Ignacio on the sand.

Aquella noche tuve una repentina antipatía por los tanques y una apasionada simpatía por el cielo.

sómente direi que em duas noites que aqui estivemos surtos, nos não davamos por seguros dos lagartos, baldas, peixes e serpentes que de dia tinhamos visto, porque erão tantos os uivos, os assopros c os roncos, e na praia os rinchos dos cavaltos marinhos, que eu me não atrevo a podêl-o declarar com palavras.

Ante mis ojos, inútilmente abiertos, se extiende la noche profunda, la noche vacía, el negro definitivo donde todo lo que alienta, tarde o temprano, se deshace.

La noche se tendía a descansar sobre la tierra, y era una noche de estancias negras, transparentes y redondas: más negras, más anchas y menos transparentes mientras más lejanas; estancias como las ondas del agua de un pozo donde hubiera caído el mundo.

I suffer from life and from other people. I can't look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.

The 'wrong thing' happened, we are now told, during the 'dark flush of night' (527.07). A flush usually brings colour to cheeks, so a dark flush is a mild oxymoron, like a dark light, and is all the more suggestive, since the dark flush of night is probably an erotically charged flush.

The damp air eased between sheets tossed and loosened with dreams, kissing uncovered throats, slipping in with unguarded breaths to lie snugly in the lungs and wait for day.

After a long chilly night's drive, straining our eyes in the darkness for unseen obstacles and pitfalls, we found that there was a lot to be said for a dram of whisky stirred into our porridge. It made a sustaining and stimulating mixture which I can warmly recommend as a breakfast dish to all engaged on similar enterprises.

It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse. -From the poem Fear

Twas a still, calm night and the moon's pale light Shone over hill and dale When friends mute with grief stood around the deathbed Of their loved, lost Lily Lyle. Heart as pure as forest lily Never knowing guile, Had its home within the bosom Of sweet Lily Lyle.

Il ne songeait pas à prolonger son bonheur jusqu'aux confins de cette nuit pesante. Toutes les étoiles ne lui eussent servi de rien, ni l'odeur des acacias. La nuit d'été battait en vain ce jeune mâle bien armé, sûr de sa force, à cette minute, sûr de son corps, indifférent à ce que le corps ne peut pas posséder.

it is the man of the night who invents, the man of the morning is nothing but a scribe.

The idea precedes everything, the rest is only attentive patience, weaving, a game of shuttles; for it is the man of the night who invents, the man of the morning is nothing but a scribe

Night smelt the way Havoc's songs sounded. It smelt of steel and rushlights and the marsh welcoming a misstep and anger souring like old blood.

And below them, Toll-by-Night set about folding itself away, like a stilt-legged monster into a closet. Its inhabitants crept back into the unwanted places, the crannies and cellars and forgotten attics, and locked themselves in. A bugle blew. A silver jingling swept through the town, sealing away all bad reputations and bitter-tasting names. Another bugle sounded. And day swept in like a landlord, not knowing that it was only a guest in night's town.

Mientras cubría la distancia entre Sant Berger y mi casa, sentí que la negrura de la noche iba tiñendo mi alma. Sin que pudiera explicármelo, un malestar había empezado a roerme desde dentro como una fiera oculta. Me sentía huérfano de la vida.

But some nights, I must tell you, I go down there after everyone has fallen asleep. I swim back and forth in the echoing blackness. I sing a love song as well as I can, lost for a while in the home of the rain.

It is time to float on the waters of the night. Time to wrap my arms around this book and press it to my chest, life preserver in a sea of unremarkable men and women, anonymous faces on the street, a hundred thousand unalphabetized things, a million forgotten hours.

I stared up at the ebbing quarter moon and the stars scattered like a handful of salt across the faraway sky...

In LA we get coyotes in our garbage cans. Coyotes are just like my relatives. They go out in pairs, they whine at night, and they go anywhere there's food.