Quotes About Night

We walked through night until there was a poem.

While I slept you stood in the colorful night market with pyramids of bright fruit piled high Where those who loved you, rushing back to their intimate stalls, held out pears that had been dreamed for you And would the dream pear not come gladly once it knew this was you wanting to take it in? The dream pear chose reality, wanting your mouth as I did - Honestly, it was happy to be bitten.

I got to third base. At baseball practice the following Monday, that is. As for what happened that night with Kevin at the stinky picnic gazebo, that's none of your damn business.

Hip, I murmur, remembering last night, how I lost it completely in a stall at Nell's---my mouth foaming, all I could think about were insects, lots of insects, and running at pigeons, foaming at the mouth and running at pigeons.

Robby intentaba no gemir pero incluso borracho detecté el miedo en su voz. Carraspeé, con los ojos todavía cerrados. - ¿Qué quieres decir? - Creo que algo está subiendo las escaleras. Algo está arañando la puerta de mi cuarto. Según Robby por lo visto contesté: - Estoy seguro de que no es nada. Vuelve a la cama. - No puedo, papá - replicó Robby -. Tengo miedo. (Bueno, y yo. Bienvenido al club. Vete acostumbrando, porque no se pasa.)

Night is a hole in yesterday, and a tunnel into tomorrow. —Zensunni fire poetry

Each of us is born to follow a star, be it bright and shining or dark and fated. Sometimes the path of these stars will cross, bringing love or hatred. However, if you look up at the skies on a clear night, out of all the countless lights that twinkle and shine, there will come one. That star will be seen in a blaze, burning a path of light across the roof of the earth, a great comet.

Is not the light of day a wondrous thing? It banishes all fears and worries of the previous night.

Like a soft cloak of dark velvet, buttoned and studded with stars, the last night of spring lay soft over the ancient sandstone Abbey of Redwall.

Crack some ribs or crush a skull, Stuff down hearts 'til he is full, Rip paws and tails off any poor seabeast, Lock your cabin doors this night, Shake with terror, quake with fright, For the Bogle may invite you to his feast!

Good night, chubby baby I can't rock you no more I'm sorry, chubby baby But my arms are getting sore Sleep tight, chubby baby And please don't get me wrong You're a perfect sized baby So never accept fakey beauty standards or develop unhealthy body issues... ... from this dumb song

It is hereby certified that the bearer, Nikolai Ivanovich, spent the said night at Satan's ball, having been summoned there in the capacity of a means of transportation…make a parenthesis, Hella, in the parenthesis put "hog. Signed — Behemoth.

Of late the nights are dawning plum-blossom white.

I'm supposed to sleep at three o'clock in the morning"—is that true? I don't think so: I'm wide awake. When I wake up in the middle of the night, I get very excited. What could be better than sleep? Waking! I love lying in bed in the middle of the night with my eyes wide open, because that's what I'm doing. There's no thought that I should be doing anything else. I love all my thoughts.

Every morning, and every night, I resolved to start a new life, but I always procrastinated, acquiescing to my ailing willpower. And Saturday at eleven o'clock at night was not the right moment to make important decisions.

Worry in the dark can make it even darker.

cell phone the night he died. She'd obtained this key information

Late on the night of August 27, with a warm breeze at his back and nine cold Budweisers in his belly, Keith Higstrom decided to go hunting. His friends declined to accompany him, as Keith was as clumsy and unreliable a shooter as he was a drunk.

Miklos said he's applied to be night clerk at a Ramada Inn near the beach. He said the waiting list was two pages long. 'But I got more experience than most.' 'You're not kidding,' Garcia said. 'Good luck with that job.' 'Thank you,' Miklos said. 'Good luck with your murder.

The hostess remembered three customers arriving in a black SUV the night before. One of the men, skinny but rough-looking, became belligerent because the restaurant served only beer and wine. The hostess said the loudmouth got wasted on sake and started tossing spring rolls in the air, trying to catch them in his mouth.

If it takes a little myth and ritual to get us through a night that seems endless, who among us cannot sympathize and understand?

The Greek religion explained that diffuse band of light in the night sky as the milk of Hera, squirted from her breast across the heavens, a legend that is the origin of the phrase Westerners still use—the Milky Way.

This looks very much as if the integration of the day's experience into our memory, the forging of new neural links, is either an easier or a more urgent task. As the night wears on and this function is completed, the more affecting dreams, the more bizarre material, the fears and lusts and other powerful emotions of the dream material emerge.

There was a time before television, before motion pictures, before radio, before books. The greatest part of human existence was spent in such a time. Over the dying embers of the campfire, on a moonless night, we watched the stars.