Best 8172 quotes in «night quotes» category

Has there ever been a night where you didn’t feel safe? Maybe you felt you were being watched? Or you couldn’t close your eyes for fear of the unknown? If, for only a moment, you let your guard down and hear a sound—unidentified and quiet—maybe it was all in your head. Never let your guard down.

Have you ever imagined walking with me? A long walk on an empty road, on a cold night. Where there is no one around, except us. My hand touches yours, in the name of sweet accidents. The stars decide to shine and the galaxies decide to burst inside me, instead of the sky. And all of a sudden, my hands try to play with your fingers. Until my fingers fill the gaps between yours.

Having come from the light and from the gods, here I am in exile, separated from them.

He attacks again, his sword a silvery fish darting through the sea of the night.

He calls me his Queen of the Night. He shows me the wonders in this incredible city. He encourages me to find my own way, and to choose what I think is right or wrong. And the sex, God, the sex! I never knew what sex was until him! It’s not soft music and candlelight, a choice, a deliberate action. It’s as involuntary as breathing, and as impossible not to do. It’s slammed up against a wall in a dark alley, or flat on my back on cold concrete because I can’t stand one more second without him. It’s on my hands and knees, dry-mouthed, heart-in-my-throat, waiting for the moment he touches me, and I’m alive again. It’s punishing and purifying, velvet and violent, and it makes everything else melt away, until nothing matters but getting him inside me and I wouldn’t just die for him—I’d kill for him, too. Like I did tonight.

He liked however the open shutters; he opened everywhere those Mrs. Muldoon had closed, closing them as carefully afterwards, so that she shouldn't notice: he liked--oh this he did like, and above all in the upper rooms!--the sense of the hard silver of the autumn stars through the window-panes, and scarcely less the flare of the street-lamps below, the white electric lustre which it would have taken curtains to keep out. This was human actual social; this was of the world he had lived in, and he was more at his ease certainly for the countenance, coldly general and impersonal, that all the while and in spite of his detachment it seemed to give him.

He must have laughed at me every single night, For I always missed the one who was never mine.

Here, in the garden at night, it is another world, strange and yet friendly and familiar, never frightening. There is such quietness, such sweetness, such refreshment. Close your eyes. Breathe in again, smell everything mingled together, flowers and earth and leaves and grass. Smell the night. Listen. Nothing at all. Silence, rushing like the sea in your ears. However small and sparse the garden, and wherever it is, even inside a great city, if something grows there, it is a magic place by night. Leave it, walk quietly back towards the lights that shine out of the house. You will take its magic with you. Now, you will sleep.

He returned to his seat and sat down; the road is so long, so long; he had to get through these spaces where stations clustered about the track amidst the black night like some black coffin set with candles. He thought that minute was flying after minute, mile after mile, everything was moving — even he was moving — but to where? ("Adam")

Her memories splashed my nights with a magical illumination. Her thoughts were my intoxication!

He rolled his eyes and took my hand. His hand was hard and calloused, tough with muscle and old scars. The night settled around us like a blanket. I could hear the water lapping against the dock. We were totally alone. “You’re . . . ,” he began, and I waited, heart throbbing in my throat. “Such a pain,” he concluded. “What?” I asked, just as his head swooped in and his mouth touched mine. I tried to speak, but one of Fang’s hands held the back of my head, and he kept his lips pressed against me, kissing me softly but with a Fanglike determination. Oh, jeez, I thought distractedly. Jeez, this is Fang, and me, and . . . Fang tilted his head to kiss me more deeply, and I felt totally lightheaded. Then I remembered to breathe through my nose, and the fog cleared a tiny bit. Somehow we were pressed together, Fang’s arms around me now, sliding under my wings, his hands flat against my back. It was incredible. I loved it. I loved him. It was a total disaster. Gasping, I pulled back. “I, uh—,” I began oh so coherently, and then I jumped up, almost knocking him over, and raced down the dock. I took off, flying fast, like a rocket.

...He sat back on his heels and watched the stars one by one cut their way through onrushing darkness, till all was reversed, day was night, and the blackness glittered with all the desert's sands, each a tiny flame beyond the bounds of time.

He stopped and stared intently at Rincewind. "Every night I come out here and look down." he finished, "and I never jump. Courage is hard to come by, here on the Edge.

He stopped going to his own bed, waiting instead until Leander was ready for bed and then going to the room with him, the dog once more in his wake. He began to look forward to the night, to what happened between them in these hours, and to the morning when they woke.

He stopped and leaned against a pole and looked up at the deaf and swollen sky. It was a movement of dark shapes, a hurrying, a running. He closed his eyes. ("Hunger")

He stayed under the fluorescent street light until the sounds of traffic and nightlife faded into silence, and only then did he look up into the night sky, the way he usually did when he was looking for answers.

He walks the soft grass, wet with fresh rain, jeans slung low on his hips and shirt hanging open, still dripping from the fevered maelstrom that set fire to the night sky. Fury in his step and passion furrowing his brow...He is my perfect storm...

He walked out into the night, thinking languageless thoughts...He ran suddenly across a street. At night, he knew, there could be the belief that something never before felt might be felt, something new. You could allow yourself quite easily this view of the world--this thrilling, midnightly faith--of there being something out there that loved you, that, at night, worshipped and searched for you, like a past life seeking its next, wanting desperately the continuation of itself. And though it would probably never find you, it would also, you believed at night, never give up, and this was enough--that something was out there and desperate and on its way.

He was in a fairy kingdom where everything was possible. He looked up at the sky. And the sky was a fairy realm like the earth. It was clearing, and over the tops of the trees clouds were swiftly sailing as if unveiling the stars.

He watched him stoke the flames, God's own firedrake. The sparks rushed upward and died in the starless dark. Not all dying words are true and this blessing is no less real for being shorn of its ground.

He went to sleep as soon as they'd gone, waking in the middle of the night and walking outside into a sky whose stars hung so low he felt he strolled among them and he could see indeed, so clear the air, the very flames of their inner workings.

His hair had clearly been up all night having adventures without him.

His fragile night was ready for her loving light.

Hold tight the gift seeds in thy palms. Sow them all when the time is right. By God's wisdom they'll grow, not by thy might. And you shall reap them all before it's night! Live life so well!

Hope is a helium balloon. It is a wish lantern set out into the dark sky of night.

However beautiful a morning may be, we still must not wish it to continue endlessly, because this shall mean missing forever all the beauties of the night!

However impatient she might be in the day, however filled with little sudden angers, at night she was all tenderness.

Hurry up, before there's no more night left.

I always welcomed the comforting cloak of night except for the times when I lost something in it.

I am fine with coffee in the coldest night; I don't need wine to make the dark more romantic.

i am in need of a sudden Shift, Your crimson lips. screaming at my Lips. Let me hold down That candle, and look away from Your light, The sight of You, everlasting, Melting in on my eyes. I see Your lips dripping roses, bleeding need all the night, Let me embrace You with touch, Let me love You all the night. I crave the crimson of Your lips, till they burn me out all white, Kiss me Deep under the ocean, Of a never-ending fire.

I am just a dark shadow Darker than night No holding by fright Only darker

‎I am night - intimate, joyous, tranquil, troubled. My darkness has no beginning and my depths no end. When the spirits arise, splendid in the light of their joys, my spirit comes frozen in the shadows of its pain.

I can be a hero and a villain all in one night.

I am sitting here, staring at the dark sky and drunk with memories. laughing like a maniac while crying an ocean. Somewhere it feels like somebody is kissing my lips passionately. While they are continuously pushing a knife, deep into my chest.

I believe the night I’ve never met hides one elusive star I need to divide me between darkness and light

I am the eye that beholds... And I am the dreamer that paints the stars in the night sky... For I am the one they call artist, and you call Love.

I can’t sleep alone anymore and I get used to company too quickly. You’re always gone too soon.

I desired always to stretch the night and fill it fuller and fuller with dreams.

I couldn't sleep 5/23/2016 and 5/24/2016 the time between them the night which puts differences between the day and split them.

I don’t like coming over here at night, the girl said. The bayou is scary in the dark, all manner of things running wild out there.

I don't know about you, but I find the idea of a school at night time - imagining the silent classrooms in total darkness and the playgrounds left lonesome and bare - creepily peculiar.

I’d rather be the creep in the night and the fire that burns your eyes than the way you use and define life.

I do this so you cannot help but hear. a wise man views a moonless night with fear.

I’d rather live in a world where I get to love the moon than in one where I don’t, even if the moon won’t return the feeling.

If from morning to night we just took care of one thing after another, thoroughly and completely and without accompanying thoughts, such as “I’m a good person for doing this” or “Isn’t it wonderful, that I can take care of everything?,” then that would be sufficient.

I feel ugly” I said and you looked at me as if I spoke a different language. There are things you will never understand and if there were words to describe the rapture that takes place in my head from time to time I would put my hand in front of your eyes to protect you from all the ugliness in the world. I kept my eyes on the streetlights outside the window and you kissed every inch of my body as if you could kiss the pain away.

If asked the Minotaur might say that he thinks gravity pulls harder at night. That the whole earth, on its wobbly axis, whips quicker through a sunless sky. It sure feels that way. But nobody is going to ask.

I feel our dark hearts shadow night stars.

If I could simply place the various parts of myself into the night sky to occasionally glance up and behold myself—maybe in the end I am only hoping to vicariously soak up some starlight.