Best 8172 quotes in «night quotes» category

As sonner began as sooner finished... the guilt is after you. I feel it, I see it and I smell you have done something..., didn't you?? Something bad... isn't it?? Tell me... don't be afraid I won't do anything bad... (I will just cut your fingers one by one... on your hands... it will be one bloody night... Then I will start with your legs finger by finger with axe... then I will start removing little from you.... the flesh from you!)

As she’d walked along this street, a million stars stretched across an indigo canvas, holding all the freedom she’d yearned for every night.

As the sky prepares to settle its tired, aching feet into the night’s velvet slippers I settle, into my armchair, soaking the teabag, of my thoughts, into warm liquidy stars.

Astray from a deep sleep chronic as I write by phonics, like insomnia I will always live the onyx night for revealing, and, upon it, still I'll steal the bright light of day right away just to keep building at speeds hypersonic.

-a superb moon, round as a pumpkin and golden as honey, filling the rooftop world with light, and deep, mysterious shadow.

At a night like this, where it's just me and the yellow moon, I feel complete.

At first I couldn't see anything. I fumbled along the cobblestone street. I lit a cigarette. Suddenly the moon appeared from behind a black cloud, lighting a white wall that was crumbled in places. I stopped, blinded by such whiteness. Wind whistled slightly. I breathed the air of the tamarinds. The night hummed, full of leaves and insects. Crickets bivouacked in the tall grass. I raised my head: up there the stars too had set up camp. I thought that the universe was a vast system of signs, a conversation between giant beings. My actions, the cricket's saw, the star's blink, were nothing but pauses and syllables, scattered phrases from that dialogue. What word could it be, of which I was only a syllable? Who speaks the word? To whom is it spoken? I threw my cigarette down on the sidewalk. Falling, it drew a shining curve, shooting out brief sparks like a tiny comet. I walked a long time, slowly. I felt free, secure between the lips that were at that moment speaking me with such happiness. The night was a garden of eyes.

At night the fog was thick and full of light, and sometimes voices.

At night I have wings.

At night is when my mind comes alive.

At night I dream of things I scoff at by day.

At night I lay awake, her likeness casting dark shadows across my soul and senses, and my stomach throbbing away. I imagined her arms around me, lulling me into a phantom bliss, so frustrating, so unreal.

at night i loved her at night i waited under the tarp at night i watched her looking up at the stars dreaming of a better time to watch me

At the end of the day…we are anchoring into the peaceful lagoon, smiling at the majestic sun and its flirting rays, slowly slipping into the glittering ballroom of immense night skies, sipping on the platinum moon liquor under the blues of rippling waves kissing my golden foot hanging over the board of gently rocking boat, and diving into the bed of galaxies whispering magical stories of their eternal lives connecting souls…till the dawn…

At the end of the day, when the sun falls a willing prisoner of the night...and humans, males and females alike, become submitted to the mistress of the dark, my mind begins to wander and wonder. Looking upwards at a blank slate of concrete, the psyque expresses freely what my subconscious is afraid to give free rein. And there and then, between the play of reality and dreamland, I find my place. I find myself.

At the age of 46 I was starting to see the appearance of rainbow halos and starbursts around bright nighttime lights, problems reading small print, focusing issues with my eyes, and image recognition issues. I had been exposed to bright high powered 20 watt scattered sodium LASER light a decade earlier in very high altitude astronomy.

At the nights our real self - the most true and deepest emotions wake up. That’s why we have the best ideas and vivid dreams at that time

A word only writes Its night and rides Its dream.

At this time in his life Zinkoff sees no difference between the stars in the sky and the stars in his mother's plastic Baggie. He believes that stars fall from the sky sometimes, and that his mother goes around collecting them like acorns. He believes she has to use heavy gloves and dark sunglasses because the fallen stars are so hot and shiny. She puts them in the freezer for forty-five minutes, and when they come out they are flat and silver and sticky on the back and ready for his shirts.

Battle of hardships it is! Having fought for life, Having seen death a little closer, Having fought to make a name, Having fought to start over, Having fought all the games, Having fought my best! Yet why are spending the Nights still the hardest?

A Cathedral Façade at Midnight Along the sculptures of the western wall I watched the moonlight creeping: It moved as if it hardly moved at all Inch by inch thinly peeping Round on the pious figures of freestone, brought And poised there when the Universe was wrought To serve its centre, Earth, in mankind’s thought. The lunar look skimmed scantly toe, breast, arm, Then edged on slowly, slightly, To shoulder, hand, face; till each austere form Was blanched its whole length brightly Of prophet, king, queen, cardinal in state, That dead men’s tools had striven to simulate; And the stiff images stood irradiate. A frail moan from the martyred saints there set Mid others of the erection Against the breeze, seemed sighings of regret At the ancient faith’s rejection Under the sure, unhasting, steady stress Of Reason’s movement, making meaningless.

Battles waged in daylight are fought by soldiers. Battles waged at night are fought by savages.

Bear, I need your eyes. I need your nose. I need your night-wits and forest-wisdom.

Be calm...calm as a calm lagoon, then you will look beautiful as a beautiful calm lagoon crowned by the Moon and sheltered by the brilliance of the stars reclaiming your royalty of regal life...

Because at night when others are sleeping, I drown myself in poetry.

Because madness is a lie too. Like night. Like death.

Because when the night gets here, I’ll be the youngest I’ll ever be again, so I will laugh and celebrate relative youth.

Bedtime is daytime, and we come into bloom after midnight.

Because I am, just as you are you. We don’t always get to pick who we are, Shelly Wynn, but we can choose to celebrate it.

Before I met you, all I could see was a black hole. Now the nights are full of bright shining stars whispering your name into a constellation.

...before the dawn I leave the night behind me and before my heart I let you leave me behind. - from the poem 'Behind

Believe in the night, it is magical. Nighttime awakens the core of the self where all of our demons that rest in daylight are up for us to tame.

... be knygų jau nebegalėjau apsieiti. Ne tiek be knygų, kiek be paties skaitymo. Mano akys į nieką daugiau nenorėjo žiūrėti, jos tiesiog šaukte šaukė: ,,Duok mums raidžių!.. Duok mums raidžių!..” Nežinau, gal yra tokia skaitymo liga? Jei yra, tai aš ja susirgau vaikystėje, paskui ji perėjo į chronišką ir nebepagydomą. Tiesą pasakius, niekas jos nei gydė, nei ruošėsi gydyti. Tiktai motina vos ne kasdien keldavo balsą: ,,Ko tu gadini akis saulei nusileidus? Ar tu negali palaukti, kol degsim lempą?” Tas ir yra, kad negali palaukti, - jau Baltoji Iltis ir tas baisusis buldogas sustojo vienas prieš kitą, jau iššiepė dantis, jau puls ir įsikibs vienas kitam į gerklę!.. Juk jie nežino, kad pas mus nusileido saulė, o motina tyčia čiupinėjasi prie mūriuko, kad tik tos lempos kuo ilgiau nereikėtų degti.

Below Les Avants there was a chalet where the pension was wonderful and we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.

Birth our night into day And bathe it clean, So that beloved things can glow Together in a litter of light.

Beware the knowledge thou seek, for knowledge though oft light, can sow the seeds of night and reap from the darkness that ensues" - 1654

Black is a blind remembering, she thought. You listen for pack sounds, for the cries of those who hunted your ancestors in a past so ancient only your most primitive cells remember. The ears see. The nostrils see.

between you and i, i found just the sky, a sky with a million of stars, but i can see just the moon, not because it's the biggest one but it's the closest and the shiniest between all. so i keep talking to that moon at night, hoping one day will talk with me, before the sun come back or the storm hide all.

Bilinmeyeni söyletme uzmanlarının gözleri nasıldır ki? Gündüzün baktığınızda gece kuşlarında gördüğünüz ürkütücü bakışlarındaki boşluk da, yırtıcı kuşların bakışlarındaki diklik de bulunsa gerek bu gözlerde. Ne tuhaf! Gündüzün bakıldığını düşünerek gece kuşlarından söz etmek… Gece kuşlarının gözünü karanlıkta kim görmüştür avlarından başka?

Bir olanaksızlığa inanmak istemeyebilir kişi, ama onu kabul etmek gerekince de içi parçalanmadan yaşamını sürdürebilir. Oysa Düzeltmenin yalnızlığı, yeryüzünde sönen her yüzeyle acılaşıyor, daha, daha daha acılaşıyorsa çok düşünüp çözümünü bulamadığı bir sorun karşısında eli kolu bağlı kalmasından.

Bored with the upsetting realities of the day? Then leave yourself to the calming mysteries of the night!

Bow of moon I see, I see Through dense canopy of groves, Level sound I hear, I hear Of the free horse's hooves. What? And you don't want to sleep, In a year could you forget Me, nor are you used to find Empty and unmade your bed? Not with you then do I speak Through sharp cries of hunting birds, Not in your eyes do I look From white pages full of words? Why you circle, like a thief At the quiet habitat? Or recall the verdict and Wait for me alive like that? I'm asleep. In dense dark, moon Threw a blade just like a dart. There is knocking. In this way Beats my warm and precious heart.

Build my night with your cheeks.

But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet ..Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Bound, elbow to elbow, darkness and night entered the dwelling.

But I look up above and see the sky With the moon and stars capturing my eye I know that you can see it too Cuz no matter where you are the sky remains true

But no one is strong at night; no one can fight alone; no success is achieved without a helper.

But sometimes, when she'd be all by herself, walking home late in the evening on a crowded street she'd be afraid of her own shadow following her...

But porca miseria, the things night can do to time. In place of hardwired sequence, it's more like everything all mixed up.

But neither of us closed our eyes against the immeasurable dark of that silent night.