Best 8172 quotes in «night quotes» category

Nė trupinio nepakando nuo savo Kūčių stalo, atsigulė į lovą ir sausomis akimis vos ne iki pat ryto pražiūrėjo į palubės tamsą. Dienos šviesa negali tiek parodyti žmogui, kiek nakties tamsybė. Viską parodo, visą gyvenimą parodo. Nežiūrėtum, nematytum, bet kad negali. Tavo gyvenimas lenda tau į akis – ir nenusuksi jų į šoną, nenukreipsi kitur vyzdžių.

Night does not show things, it suggests them. It disturbes and surprises us with its strangeness. It liberates forces within us which are dominated by our reason during the daytime.

Night has fallen. And it will last for a very long time.

Night heralded sleep and shadows, demons and dreams. But I heralded the night.

Night never needs a shade but it requires to fade into the grin of twinkling stars where light is just a glint of scars

night opens I enter night shuts I don't leave

Nights; are belong to the universe that speaks about an unspoken feelings into a poetry.

Night air has the strangest flavour Space to breathe it - time to savour All that night air has to lend me Til the morning makes me angry In the night air, the night air. I've acquired a kind of madness Daylight fills my heart with sadness And only silent skies can soothe me Feel that night air flowing through me In the night air, the night air. I don't need those car-crash colours I control the stars above us Close my eyes to make the night fall The comfort of world revolving I can hear the earth in orbit In the night air, in the night air. I've acquired a taste for silence darkness fills my heart with calmness and each thought like a thief is driven to steal the night air from the heavens In the night air, in the night air...

Night gets its own way in the end. The torches go out, the fire burns down to its internal organs, and the hall is charcoal and darkness. His mind shrinks as the heat dies, a ticking ember.

Night is mine, together with a substantial part of the future.

Night is purer than day; it is better for thinking, loving and dreaming. At night everything is more intense, more true. The echo of words that have been spoken during the day takes on a new and deeper meaning.

Night is when the whispers of the past become the echoes of the present.

Night never judges, but morning never forgives...

NIGHT OF LOVE The moon has left the sky, love, The stars are hiding now, And frowning on the world, love, Night bares her sable brow. The snow is on the ground, love, And cold and keen the air is. I 'm singing here to you, love; You 're dreaming there in Paris. But this is Nature's law, love, Though just it may not seem, That men should wake to sing, love, While maidens sleep and dream. Them care may not molest, love, Nor stir them from their slumbers, Though midnight find the swain, love, Still halting o'er his numbers. I watch the rosy dawn, love, Come stealing up the east, While all things round rejoice, love, That Night her reign has ceased. The lark will soon be heard, love, And on his way be winging; When Nature's poets wake, love, Why should a man be singing?

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.

Night’s visions of tranquility slowly rolled above me by the groovy silken silence,that prevailed wisdom and by my casement,the starry beams rave,and thoughts start to sketch Nyx’s beauty, as I admired.

Night after night on starry wings Night lovers soared so high Miles apart, across the oceans Their love forgot to sigh In heavenly flight’s timelessness That highest height treasured Into the deepest of all blues Their depth of love measured. From the poem 'The Ballad of Night Lovers

Night changed the streets. It dressed them in the mourning clothes named darkness, and applied the makeup called mystery.

Nightfall was approaching, the light pouring away past the world’s horizon in a gradually darkening cascade.

Night is just a fusion of dreams.

Night is the permanent revolution, that of the globe. Every sundown the streets change, becoming sinister or libidinous, or, for that matter, longer or narrower or unexpectedly twisted. The familiar rebels against those who presume to know it. The map is altered and time is telescoped. Daylight restores things to their normal condition, or is that really their normal condition? The map of the city wrinkles and unfolds, wrinkles and unfolds.

Night is the time to dream and morning is the time to actualize them!

Night is when fear comes to us at its fullest, when we have no way to fight it. It will do everything it can to seep inside you. Sometimes it may succeed - but never think that you are the night.

Night quilts the sky with stars sewn like the uneven stitching of my jacket.

Night sometimes lends such tragic assistance to catastrophe.

Night-time is being brushed aside like so much cobweb. The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.

Night is brushed aside like so much cobweb. The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.

Night is irregular. What is not done in the daytime becomes possible at night: murder and sex and thought. Simple men are driven to early beds by tomorrow's daytime demands and by fear of the dark, and never dream of the irregular world outside. And all the while, a viscount and a spaceport baggage boy might be passing the night rolling bok ball in the city park. That's more than unusual -- that is irregular.

Night is the struggle within ourselves.

NIGHT SNOW I was surprised my quilt and pillow were cold, I see that now the window's bright again. Deep in the night, I know the snow is thick, I sometimes hear the sound as bamboo snaps.

Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

Night had come and eaten everything.

Night has more words to say to you than the day can tell you!

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

Night is night.

Nightlife is filled with personal tragedies.

Nights are rebellious, they only demand the truth

Night was fading over the fields as if the rain had washed the darkness out of the hem of its garment.

Night time You’ll find her there Blooming Like a night rose.

Nocturnal with a love for night, I'd stay up to see sunlight...

Noć je bila od onih u kojima se usamljenost čini kao nesvladiva daljina.

No matter how dark your night, my friend, may you always find enough light to take the next step.

No matter how cheerful and blameless the day’s activities have been, when you wake in the middle of the night there is guilt in the air, a gnawing feeling of everything being slightly off, wrong — you in the wrong, and the world too, as if darkness is a kind of light that shows us the depth we are about to fall into.

No olvidemos que el amor, como las muelas, siempre duele más de noche.

No one's place in this world is guaranteed. Not everyone is going to get a happy ending. But life isn't about how it ends. It's about the moments between. It's about the small things. The way our loved ones laugh. The sight of a butterfly in the sunlight after a year or two in the darkness. The love and support of an old friend. They might not be with us in body, but they are with us in spirit. The feeling of something we'd thought lost to us forever returned in a single, life-changing moment. Yes, that is simple, even though it might be momentous to us as individuals. Because every day, on this planet, people are born and people die and stranger things happen. But I know my place now, and my purpose. And no matter what trial you have to endure to find that out... It's worth it.

Nothing was more beautiful than a night sky dusted with stars. Nothing was more terrible than a night sky scrawled with a thousand destinies. Night was inevitable. Like me.

Nothing can be as peaceful and endless as a long winter darkness, going on and on, like living in a tunnel where the dark sometimes deepens into night and sometimes eases to twilight, you're screened from everything, protected, even more alone than usual.

Not for everyone a darkest night is bid farewell by a bright sunrise.

Now Pilon knew it for a perfect night. A high fog covered the sky, and behind it, the moon shone so so that the forest was filled with a gauze-like light. There was none of the sharp outline we think of as reality. The tree trunks were not black columns of wood, but soft and unsubstantial shadows. The patches of brush were formless and shifting in the queer light. Ghosts could walk freely to-night, without fear of the disbelif of men; for this night was haunted, and it would be an insensitive man who did not know it.

Now the evening's at its noon, its meridian. The outgoing tide has simmered down, and there's a lull-like the calm in the eye of a hurricane - before the reverse tide starts to set in. The last acts of the three-act plays are now on, and the after-theater eating places are beginning to fill up with early comers; Danny's and Lindy's - yes, and Horn & Hardart too. Everybody has got where they wanted to go - and that was out somewhere. Now everybody will want to get back where they came from - and that's home somewhere. Or as the coffee-grinder radio, always on the beam, put it at about this point: 'New York, New York, it's a helluva town, The Bronx is up, the Battery's down, And the people ride around in a hole in the ground. Now the incoming tide rolls in; the hours abruptly switch back to single digits again, and it's a little like the time you put your watch back on entering a different time zone. Now the buses knock off and the subway expresses turn into locals and the locals space themselves far apart; and as Johnny Carson's face hits millions of screens all at one and the same time, the incoming tide reaches its crest and pounds against the shore. There's a sudden splurge, a slew of taxis arriving at the hotel entrance one by one as regularly as though they were on a conveyor belt, emptying out and then going away again. Then this too dies down, and a deep still sets in. It's an around-the-clock town, but this is the stretch; from now until the garbage-grinding trucks come along and tear the dawn to shreds, it gets as quiet as it's ever going to get. This is the deep of the night, the dregs, the sediment at the bottom of the coffee cup. The blue hours; when guys' nerves get tauter and women's fears get greater. Now guys and girls make love, or kill each other or sometimes both. And as the windows on the 'Late Show' title silhouette light up one by one, the real ones all around go dark. And from now on the silence is broken only by the occasional forlorn hoot of a bogged-down drunk or the gutted-cat squeal of a too sharply swerved axle coming around a turn. Or as Billy Daniels sang it in Golden Boy: While the city sleeps, And the streets are clear, There's a life that's happening here. ("New York Blues")