Quotes About Night

It does not look good. Then again, few things do in the dead of night. The small dark hours are the undoing of many. Candlelight throws shadows on the walls of our souls, shadows that turn a mouse into a monster, a downturn into disaster.

A los mortales no les gusta la incertidumbre. No les gusta el cambio. El cambio da miedo. El cambio es doloroso. -El cambio es un beso en la oscuridad. Una rosa en la nieve. Un camino del bosque en una noche ventosa.

El cambio es un beso en la oscuridad. Una rosa en la nieve. Un camino del bosque en una noche ventosa.

I will go out again this very night with my rockets and fuses. I will blow them straight out of their comfortable beds. Blow the rooftops off their houses. Blow the black, wretched night to bits. I will not stop. For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.

I don't think my memory of that night is ever coming back." "Do you want me to hit you on the head with a coconut? It works on Gilligan's Island.

I just happened to be in the neighborhood, walking my dog..." This was sounding lame. "Several miles from my home,in the middle of the night,in the snow.And I found myself in your backyard." His eyes flew open. "With the cats?" "If that's what you call them.

I could have explained that I wanted to walk without Doofus to get some air. But it would be pretty unusual-one might even go as far as to say unheard of-for me to take a hike on a winter night when I was exhausted from boarding all day.

What are you doing here?" "I just happened to be in the neighborhood, walking my dog . . ." This was sounding lame. ". . . several miles from my home, in the middle of the night, in the snow. And I found myself in your backyard.

At night, the house thick with sleep, she would peer out her bedroom window at the trees and sky and feel the presence of a mystery. Some possibility that included her--separate from her present life and without its limitations. A secret. Riding in the car with her father, she would look out at other cars full of people she'd never seen, any one of whom she might someday meet and love, and would feel the world holding her making its secret plans.

The blue, mosquitoey night pushes in from the hotel windows.

It wasn't depression, exactly; more a weird, restless pressure that made me wander the house late at night, opening the best bottles of wine in our cellar and drinking them alone while I channel-surfed along the forgotten byways of cable TV.

Even the most secure houses achieve, in deep night, a state of relative unconsciousness.

Market Street, a steamy puddle at every curb. We find our way down alleys, our crazy eyes making diamonds of the shattered glass that covers the streets and sidewalks. Nothing touches us. We float under the orange streetlamps.

San Francisco is ours, we've signed our name on it a hundred times: SISTERS OF THE MOON.

In deep night, when I listen to sounds of the rainforest, I feel like I've returned to my mission. The landscapes are nothing alike. I see now that the place I've been yearning for is my own imagination. It was with me before and will be always. It's in every children's book.

At night, far from shore, stars pulse with a strength inconceivable in the proximity of light.

th blu nyt th stRs u can't c th hum tht nevr gOs awy

There is a bright full moon, and boats in the harbor are lit up and dancing in the inky water.

watch Mama and Papa while they sleep. It makes me feel strange and lovely and more like a shadow than a real girl—awake when no one else is, me and the moon smiling down on Mama and Papa while they dream.

It is 3:38 a.m., and the time of night when my mind starts running around all wild and out of control, like my cat, George, when he was a kitten.

Last night is like a puzzle—only not put together: all the pieces are scattered everywhere and some are missing. I wish my heart wouldn't beat so fast.

This is the single loveliest thing anyone's ever done for me. It's movie lovely. It feels somehow epic and fragile, and I wand the night to last forever, and knowing it can't already has me sad.

I walk through the black Indiana night, under a ceiling of stars, and think about the phrase "elegance and euphoria," and how it describes exactly what I feel with Violet.

Me: It's late. Finch: That depends on who you ask. See, I don't necessarily think it's late. I think early. Early in our lives. Early in the night. Early in the new year. If you're counting, you'll notice the earlys outnumber the lates.