Night Love Quotes
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Night is purer than day; it is better for thinking and 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. The tragedy of man is that he doesn't know how to distinguish between day and night. He says things at night that should only be said by day.
Elie Wiesel
Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night,' he had said. 'You must not try to make love definite. It is the divine accident of life. If you try to be definite and sure about it and to live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing wagons gathers upon lips inflamed and made tender by kisses.
Sherwood Anderson
Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink. Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain, Nor yet a floating spar to men that sinkand rise and sink and rise and sink again. Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath. Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; Yet many a man is making friends with deatheven as I speak, for lack of love alone. It well may be that in a difficult hour, pinned down by need and moaning for releaseor nagged by want past resolution's power, I might be driven to...
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Love has no middle term; either it destroys, or it saves. All human destiny is this dilemma. This dilemma, destruction or salvation, no fate proposes more inexorably than love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; coffin, too. The same sentiment says yes and no in the human heart. Of all the things God has made, the human heart is the one that sheds most light, and alas! most night.
Victor Hugo
Love? Do I love? I walk. Within the brilliance of another's thought, As in a glory. I was dark before, as Venus' chapel in the black of night: But there was something holy in the darkness, Softer and not so thick as the other where; And as rich moonlight may be to the blind, Unconsciously consoling. Then love came, Like the out-bursting of a trodden star.
Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Lovely and unremarkable, the clutterof mugs and books, the almost-empty FigNewtons box, thick dishes in a bigtin tray, the knife still standing in the butter, change like the color of river waterin the delicate shift to day. Thin fogveils the hedges, where a neighbor dogmakes rounds. 'Go to bed. It doesn't matterabout the washing-up. Take this book along.'Whatever it was we said that night is gone, framed like a photograph nobody took. Stretched out on a camp cot with the book, I think that...
Marilyn Hacker
Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!
John Galsworthy
