Quotes About Night

Quale canto s'è levato stanotte che intesse di cristallina eco del cuore le stelle

In the night, when the wind dies and silence rules the place of glittering stone, I remember. And they all live again.

Carter, who'd never seen a ghost, nonetheless found the idea of them wonderful. Who wouldn't want to see a ghost? Whenever he visited the park at night, he saw nothing. On weekend afternoons, he detoured through its rambles on his way to the ferry, watching the boaters, the Sunday painters, the wild and frantic children, and he thought how odd it was that the same joyful places, minus sunlight, became frightening.

In the middle of the night, with his father and brother asleep, and his mother having an adventure, he felt fits of longing for places he'd never been, places he couldn't describe, and he wondered if there were anyone else like him in the world, awake and catching glimpses of the unknown. He wondered if he were truly related to his family, or if instead he had dropped among them, a changeling.

For almost a decade I was haunted by the memory of Deborah Black, I was about to claim. But the memory didn't haunt me; I haunted the memory. Went to it, at night or in the deadened hours of empty afternoons, woke it up, reminded it of all the fun we'd had, made it do things with me.

that conflict follows politics as night follows day

her bedside.  She shut her eyes tightly against the sight

Night is the other half of life, and the better half.

Now I find my good men Are gathered in the night To wait in silence, not to sleep And the glorious word of liberty They whisper and murmur Till in unaccustomed strangeness On the steps of our temper Once again in delight they cry Freedom! Freedom!

Now to night the world surrenders, Sacred love joins star to star; Little sparkles, greater splendours, Glitter near and gleam from far.

Tout ce qui n'a pas été dit ni fait le jour erre la nuit dans notre poitrine.

The Roman philosopher Cicero said of the discipline of reading: No other pleasure suits every occasion, every age or every place. But the study of letters is the food of youth, the delight of old age, a delight at home and no burden abroad; it stays with us at night, and goes with us on our travels, near and far.

Slowly the night is falling, Falling down from the hill, And all in the low green valley The dew lies heavy and chill; The crickets cry in the hedges, The bats are circling low, And like ghosts through the blossoming garden The glimmering night-moths go...

The little owls call to each other with tremulous, quavering voices throughout the livelong night, as they sit in the creaking trees.

In the country the darkness of night is friendly and familiar, but in a city, with its blaze of lights, it is unnatural, hostile and menacing. It is like a monstrous vulture that hovers, biding its time.

In the country the darkness of night is friendly and familiar, but in a city, with its blaze of lights, it is unnatural, hostile and menacing.

A millennium without air or light pollution made for pitch-black skies. The stars didn't just appear anymore. They exploded. Diamonds on black velvet. You couldn't tear your eyes away.

One time as dusk slipped into dark, I stood upon a stubble-hill, And saw the stars come floating in Like chaff blown from a mill. And when the dark slipped into night, I saw chaff on the plain below. (The lights of a city smouldered there In phosphorescent glow.) The plain I knew, the sky I knew, But then I wondered in dismay Which were the stars, and which the lights… And I asked the night away.

Night in the desert. Nowhere else in all the world Night comes like this... My eyes, my human eyes, can see no end... The hard bright moon seems far, so far away— —The million, million stars that jeer at me— Great God, how big it is—and I But one more grain of sand beneath the immeasurable sky— Night in the desert...

Calories, n, pl. Tiny creatures that live in your closet and sew your clothes a little bit tighter every night.

Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport on earth in the night season, and melt away in the first beam of the sun, which lights grim care and stern reality on their daily pilgrimage through the world.

Dreams are nocturnal flowers, blooming when the sun has strayed far enough that we can see clearly.

My dreams leap — dancers of the night, reaching heights unknown to the day.

Dreams are road signs along the nighttime highway of sleep.