Quotes About Night

Tiens, une ville qu'on traverse la nuit, et tout à coup tu dépasses la dernière maison, tu retombes dans le silence, comme dans le vide.

Bartholomeus went on, 'I wanted to show that these objects are sensitive, suffer at the coming of night, faint at the departure of the last rays, which, by the way, also live in this room; they suffer as much, they fight against the darkness. There you have it. It's the life of things, if you like. The French would call it a nature morte, a picture of inanimate objects. That is not what I'm trying to show. Flemish puts it better: a still life.

Even during the nights, their nights punctuated by unending kisses, they were sometimes irritated by the carillon, which sounded every quarter of an hour from the top of the belfry opposite. A slow, indistinct jingling which seemed to come from far, far away, from the depths of childhood, from the depths of the ages. It was like a dead bouquet falling, an autumn of sound shedding its leaves over the town. ("The Dead Town")

I often lay on that bench looking up into the tree, past the trunk and up into the branches. It was particularly fine at night with the stars above the tree.

Gradually the magic of the island settled over us as gently and clingingly as pollen. Each day had a tranquillity, a timelessness, about it, so that you wished it would never end. But then the dark skin of night would peel off and there would be a fresh day waiting for us, glossy and colourful as a child's transfer and with the same tinge of unreality.

sleepily through the olive groves, silvered by a moon as large and as white as a magnolia blossom.

in a star-lit sky, shedding only the feeblest light.

ink-black shadows

Each day had a tranquility a timelessness about it so that you wished it would never end. But then the dark skin of the night would peel off and there would be a fresh day waiting for us glossy and colorful as a child's transfer and with the same tinge of unreality.

The owls appeared now, drifting from tree to tree as silently as flakes of soot, hooting in astonishment as the moon rose higher and higher, turning to pink, then gold, and finally riding in a nest of stars, like a silver bubble.

The darkness of the night implies nothing sinister, only that the liberation takes place in hidden ways, beneath our knowledge and understanding.

The troubles of Lieutenant Byng were not, however, quite over. He had to return to London early next morning — and he still had thirteen mice on his hands. Late that night he made a cautious reconnaissance of the corridors. And under the door of every bedroom which had a pair of lady's shoes outside it he liberated one mouse!

Yet knowing the physics steals none of the wonder as the sky turns from blue to crimson, then deep purple, and finally embraces the black of night as Earth's rotation

St. Teresa of Avila described our life in this world as like a night at a second-class hotel.

Did you ever have one of those nights when you didn't want to go out, but your hair looked too good to stay home?

Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die. Take him, and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.

Goodnight! Goodnight! Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say goodnight 'til it be morrow.

English I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.

Out of the scabbard of the night, By God's hand drawn, Flashes his shining sword of light, And lo, the dawn!

O pilot! 'tis a fearful night, There's danger on the deep.

The Night has a thousand eyes, The Day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun.