Quotes About Night

One of the many joys of Undercover is that other squads can never quite figure out when you're on the job and when you're, say, on a genuine night out with the lads, so they tend to leave you alone, just in case.

In the nights afterwards I used to wake up with my mind full of those headlights, brighter and deeper than the sun. I saw them again behind my eyelids in that dark lane, and I understood then that I could have just kept driving. I could have been like Lexie. I could have hit full speed and taken us soaring up off the road, into the vast silence at the heart of those lights and out on the other side where nothing could touch us, ever.

The moonlight whitened the lawn into a wide fitful sea, with the house tall and still in the middle, exposed on every side; besieged.

Voices tossed up and down the long flights of stairs, sourceless and intertwining like crickets' chorus, gentle as fingers on my hair. Night, they said, good night, sleep well. Welcome back, Lexie. Yes, welcome back. Good night. Sweet dreams.

every flash of moonlight off a leaf looked like bared white teeth, the tree over the car looked dense with shadow-things hanging ready to drop. Every sound had me leaping around, but there was never anything to see.

I looked out over the water, into the night that was coming in on the tide, and I felt nothing at all. The beach looked like something I had seen in an old film, once upon a time; that hotheaded boy felt like a character from some book I had read and given away in childhood. Only, somewhere far inside my spine and deep in the palms of my hands, something hummed; like a sound too low to hear, like a warning, like a cello string when a tuning fork strikes the perfect tone to call it awake.

When I think about the Spain case, from deep inside endless nights, this is the moment I remember. Everything else, every other slip and stumble along the way, could have been redeemed. This is the one I clench tight because of how sharp it slices. Cold still air, a weak ray of sun glowing on the wall outside the window, smell of stale bread and apples.

There was a tiny silence, only the soft hum of the fluorescence. I thought of her in the cold ruined house, with night birds keening above her and rain gentle all around, dying of breathing

Sam looked at the sky to see if there were a lot of stars. There seemed to be a normal amount of stars.

Now hardly anything seemed to matter except politics—the latest series of atrocities, which family had converted, who had offered money to bribe the Church, and, of course, the fateful night which was burned in their collective memory and which caused even those who had previously expressed a total indifference to politics to sit up and take stock.

As anyone who has struggled with insomnia knows, trying to force sleep is at best a hopeless business. Slumber is unimpressed by suitors.

Did we love so forcefully that night because we knew or because we didn't? Was there an alarm from the future, a furious bell without its clapper? Did this hopeless bell manage to generate a breeze, causing me to reach to the floor to find my slip and use it to cover myself? Did some subtle warning cause Roy to turn and pin me to my side with his heavy arm? In his sleep, he mumbled something but did not wake.

Go on to sleep. Like they say, weeping endures for a night." "But joy comes in the morning,

Celestial isn't the kind of singer you would want at your wedding. While her mother is a gravity-defying soprano, she is a scotch-and-Marlboros alto. Even when she was a little girl, her voice was like the middle of the night. When she gives a song, it isn't entertaining; rather, it sounds like she is telling secrets that are not hers to reveal.

But neither of us closed our eyes against the immeasurable dark of that silent night.

night followed day, as it always does, and each night promised a day soon to come. this is something I took comfort in these last bad years.

While her mother was a gravity-defying soprano, she is a scotch-and-Marlboros alto. Even when she was a little girl, her voice was like the middle of the night.

I kissed her finger near the base, where my ring once rested. "Georgia," I said, beginning a sentence I couldn't bear to complete. "I tried," she began. "Shhh . . . Just sleep, Georgia. Just sleep." But neither of us closed our eyes against the immeasurable dark of that silent night.

All this I had been a witness to ever since I opened my eyes on life, yet I had never seen the village at such a late hour of the night.

In the middle of the night When I'm in this dream It's like A million little stars Spelling out your name You gotta come on, come on Say that we'll be together Come on, come on

Just close your eyes, The sun is going down. You'll be alright, No one can hurt you now. Come morning light. You and I'll be safe & sound.

In the middle of the night When Im in this dream Its like a million little stars Spelling out your name

Some humans theorize that intelligent species go extinct before they can expand into outer space. If they're correct, then the hush of the night sky is the silence of the graveyard.

At the base of the immense pillar, tiny Babylon was in shadow. Then the darkness climbed the tower, like a canopy unfurling upward. It moved slowly enough that Hillalum felt he could count the moments passing, but then it grew faster as it approached, until it raced past them faster than he could blink, and they were in twilight... For the first time, he knew night for what it was: the shadow of the earth itself, cast against the sky.