Quotes About Night

The stars shone with such fears, contained brilliance that it seemed absurd to call the night dark.

Picture the east Aegean sea by night, And on a beach aslant its shimmering Upwards of 50,000 men Asleep like spoons beside their lethal Fleet.

The little Plumpuppets are fairies of beds; They have nothing to do but watch sleepyheads; They turn down the sheets and they tuck you in tight, And dance on your pillow to wish you good night!

Overhead the night was a superb arch of clear frost, sifted with stars.

Poetry is like an unexpected noise in the night: the creak of a door, a footstep on the porch, the soft scuffle of a moth against the screen, which rouses every sense to an instant alert. So comes poetry to the drowsy mind, which startles a moment, wonders, and returns to sleep.

Night, I have discovered, has a faintly bitter taste, caused by its large ingredient of Un-attained Possibility.

La notte ha una mistica affinità con la letteratura.

That's the kind of thing, if you get to thinking about, that could wake you in the middle of night. I didn't want my nights to have any middles.

I stood alone beneath the stars and shouted to the heavens at the top of my lungs and what was so beautiful was the way the stars shined when the sky swallowed your name.

Dawn stations, with a steel light, and waxen figures. / Dust, stone, and clanking sounds, hiss of weary steam. / Night stations, shaded light, fading pools of colour. / Shadows and the shuffling of a million feet /… The station clock with staggering hand and the callous face, / says twenty-five-to-nine

Las Vegas looks the way you'd imagine heaven must look at night.

Vampires are slicker than goose shit on a glass window.

It was one of the warm nights at the end of summer that makes promises that won't be kept.

One bright day in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight. They drew their swords and shot each other. A deaf police man heard the noise, and ran to save the two dead boys. And if you don't believe it's true, ask the blind man, he saw it too.

There was a fire here, like it or not. Finally, reluctantly, she broke the silence. "Any idea how I'm supposed to get out of here? Or do I get to spend the rest of the night on this extremely comfortable table? Or perhaps more accurately, under it?" He grinned. "Think you can pretend we had a tryst set up in here?" Her mind shot back to that incendiary kiss they'd shared. "I don't think that'll be too hard to do.

My words verge on silence like great birds that disappear into the early evening: their strenuous white wings carry off the intense sweetness of dusk, visible then in starlight. My words turn toward the night with no look back at what is lost or won, or what is missing, — Cinto Vitier, from "Greater Solitude," transl. Kathleen Weaver, Image: Art, Faith, Mystery (no. 65, Spring 2010)

The night of today looks at me with torpor, verdigris and lime. I want inside this night that is longer than life, I want, inside this night, life raw and bloody and full of saliva.

E, se atravessara o amor e o seu inferno, penteava-se agora diante do espelho, por um instante sem nenhum mundo no coração. Antes de se deitar, como se apagasse uma vela, soprou a pequena flama do dia.

The night that wouldn't, and wouldn't, and wouldn't come, that was impossible. And her love that now was impossible—that was dry the way the fever of someone who doesn't sweat was love without opium or morphine. And "I love you" was a splinter you couldn't remove with tweezers. A splinter buried in the toughest part of the sole of your foot.

Eu escrevo à meia-noite porque sou escuro. Ângela escreve de dia porque é quase sempre luz alegre.

La cama blanquecina nadando en la oscuridad. El cansancio arrastrándose por su cuerpo

What would a person say to himself in the madness of sincerity? But it would be salvation. Thought the terror of sincerity comes from the part of the shadows that connect me to the world and to the creating unconscious of the world. Today is a night with many stars in the sky. It stopped raining.

One night, I'd only just lain down," she told him, "when one of the legs of the bed collapsed throwing me to the ground. After an irate movement, because I wasn't at least sleepy enough to go without comfort, I suddenly thought: why a whole bed and not a broken one? I lay down and was soon asleep...

Transfiguro la realidad y entonces otra realidad soñadora y noctámbula me crea.