Quotes About Night

Four months or so of torturing ecstasy in his society - of pleasure girded about with pain. After that the blackness of unutterable night.

The village was shutting its eyes. Candles and lamps were being put out everywhere: she could inwardly behold the extinguisher and the extended hand.

Hastily flinging her cloak around her she opened the door and followed, putting out the candles as if she were never coming back. The rain was over and the night was now clear.

It was a night when sorrow may come to the brightest without causing any great sense of incongruity: when, with impressible persons, love becomes solicitousness, hope sinks to misgiving, and faith to hope: when the exercise of memory does not stir feelings of regret at opportunities for ambition that have been passed by, and anticipation does not prompt to enterprise.   The

To persons standing alone on a hill during a clear midnight such as this, the roll of the world eastward is almost a palpable movement.

Let me look right into your moonlit face, and dwell on every line and curve in it!

wan starlight...

Si sdraiò sul suo giaciglio nel soggiorno e spense la luce. La notte entrò e vi prese il suo posto, noncurante e indifferente; quella stessa notte che si era già ingoiata la sua felicità e che ora stava distrattamente digerendosela; ed era pronta a ingoiare la felicità di migliaia d'altre persone, con la stessa noncuranza e impassibilità.

Byla to noc, kdy i nejveselejÅ¡ího ?lovÄ›ka m?že navÅ¡tívit lítost, aniž p?sobí pÃ…â"¢íliÅ¡ nepÃ…â"¢im??enÄ›; kdy se citlivým osobám láska mÄ›ní v úzkost, nadÄ›je klesá v pochybnost a víra v nadÄ›ji.

Orion is above the horizon now, and near it Jupiter, brighter than it will ever be ... But i expect you can see it too. Some of our stars are the same.

Crawford was home for a month from the hospital, the chest pains came again in the night. Instead of calling an ambulance and going through it all again, he chose simply to roll over to the solace of his late wife's side of the bed.

Pictures ... flashed on her in sudden color, too much color, shocking color, the color that leaps out of black when lightning strikes at night.

Sometimes at night I would leave the lights on in my little house and walk across the flat fields. When I looked back from a distance, the house looked like a boat at sea. And all around me the vast Delta night.

She delivered the paper to the night duty officer and fell into her grateful bed, the voices of the day still whispering, softer than Mapp's breathing across the room. On the swarming dark she saw the moth's wise little face. Those glowing eyes had looked at Buffalo Bill. Out of the cosmic hangover the Smithsonian leaves came her last thought and a coda for her day: Over this odd world, this half of the world that's dark now, I have to hunt a thing that lives on tears.

I woke up and heard the lambs screaming. I woke up in the dark and the lambs were screaming.

Discussions should always be held just before going to bed, your rear protected by sleep. How painful, after an intellectual conversation, to have to go about with your mind so stirred up.

The Sehnsucht motif, a lonely wandering voice in the night, softly uttered its tremulous question. Silence followed, a silence of waiting. And then the answer: the same hesitant, lonely strain, but higher in pitch, more radiant and tender. Silence again. And then

How good, he thinks, that she breathes in oblivion with every breath she draws! That in childhood each night is a deep wide gulf between one day and the next.

All of this is mystification. The city itself lives on its own myth. Instead of waking up and silently existing, the city people prefer a stubborn and fabricated dream; they do not care to be a part of the night, or to be merely of the world. They have constructed a world outside the world, against the world, a world of mechanical fictions which contemn nature and seek only to use it up, thus preventing it from renewing itself and man.

I think poetry must I think it must Stay open all night In beautiful cellars.

The moon looks upon many night- flowers, the night flower sees but one moon.

Darkness invades the dreams of the glassblower. Of all the unpleasantries his dreams grab in out of the night air, an extinguished light is the worst. Light in his dreams, was always hope: the basic moral hope. As the contacts break helically away, hope turns to darkness, and the glassblower wakes sharply tonight crying, Who? Who?

She has stepped out into a different night, a different town altogether, one of those first-person-shooter towns that you can drive around in seemingly forever, but never away from. The only humanity visible are virtual extras in the distance, none offering any of the help she needs.

Dick" Counterfly had absquatulated swiftly into the night, leaving his son with only a pocketful of specie and the tender admonition, "Got to 'scram