Quotes About Night

That moment at night when you're sleepy but you don't want to end the fun text conversation with your friends.

So sick of being tired, then laying in bed and becoming wide awake. Ugh. I just want to sleep.

Can't sleep at night, can't get up in the morning.

I love sleep, but I hate going to bed early.

My day starts backwards...I wake up tired and I go to bed wide awake.

Every night perhaps, we accept the risk of experiencing, while we sleep, sufferings that we consider to be null and void because they will be endured only in the course of a sleep that we believe is without consciousness. In fact, on the evenings when I returned home late from La Raspelière, I was very sleepy. But as soon as the cold weather arrived, I was unable to get to sleep right away, because the fire was so bright it was as if a lamp had been lit.

You have not, perhaps, any personal merit; so few of us have! But for a time at least you have youth, and that is always a charm. Besides, sir, the greatest folly of all is to laugh at or to condemn in others what one does not happen oneself to feel. I love the night, and you tell me that you are afraid of it.

When I raised a corner of the heavy curtain of habit (the stupefying habit which during the whole course of our life conceals from us almost the whole universe, and in the dead of night, without changing the label, substitutes for the most dangerous or intoxicating poisons of life some kind of anodyne which does not procure any delight), such a memory would come back to me

Matote, gyvenime, mano berniuk, ateina toksai laikas, <...>, kai pavargusios akys nebepakelia kitos šviesos tik t?, kuri? graži naktis, kaip šiandien, sukuria ir skleidžia kartu su tamsa, kai ausys nebegali klausytis kitos muzikos, o tik m?nesienos, grojan?ios tylos fleita.

and I am saying this because it is not possible to describe human life without bathing it in the sleep into which it plunges, and which, night after night, encircles it like the sea around a promontory

the moonlight striking upon the half-opened shutters would throw down to the foot of my bed its enchanted ladder;

Monelle grew quiet and looked at me: I came from the night, she said, and I shall return to the night. For I too am a young prostitute.

the queasy purple of light pollution was lonelier than night.

When sirens lit up the darkness behind him, he jumped, then cursed. Must've zoned out, gotten heavy on the pedal—only no, the speedometer read sixty-seven. He'd been tired, but not so whacked that he'd drifted out of his lane. A broken taillight? It was after four in the morning; maybe the cops were just bored. Kevin

Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn?... Maybe night falls because it's heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes. Wool blanket.

With finger on her solemn lip, Night hushed the shadowy earth.

Lying in bed, half-covered by the blankets, I would drowsily ask why he had come to my door that night long ago. It had become a ritual for us, as it does for all lovers: where, when, why? remember...I understand even old people rehearse their private religion of how they first loved, most guarded of secrets. And he would answer, sleep blurring his words, "Because I had to." The question and the answer were always the same. Why? Because I had to.

The sidewalks swarmed with people, the night was full of the noises of the living. They struck Miss Clarvoe's ears strangely, like sounds from another planet.

I wish, peevishly, that he didn't know anything about how soldiers sleep, how they protect their fellow soldiers. It would be nicer if I could share the cloaks warmth with him, if we could lie with our faces together, whispering into the night.

Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere.

Goodnight nobody. Goodnight mush.

Night simply drapes itself over the day As if someone had lowered a curtain. The sky glitters and moves, Filled with shooting stars and fireflies.

At night, forgotten words tried to reach me. I listened with my skin. Words tore my skin off, crept inside me, and nestled down. I was a mass of wounds. When I opened my mouth in front of the mirror, beasts lay asleep in my throat; they'd made it their home.

I stayed under the moon too long. I am silvered with lust. Dreams flick like minnows through my eyes. My voice is trees tossing in the wind. I loose myself like a flock of blackbirds storming into your face. My lightest touch leaves blue prints, bruises on your mind. Desire sandpapers your skin so thin I read the veins and arteries maps of routes I will travel till I lodge in your spine. The night is our fur. We curl inside it licking.