Night Quotes (displaying: 31 - 60 of 4335 quotes )
Night came on, the lamps were lighted, the tables near him found occupants, and Paris began to wear that peculiar evening look of hers which seems to say, in the flare of windows and theatre-doors, and the muffled rumble of swift-rolling carriages, that this is no world for you unless you have your pockets lined and your scruples drugged.
Night, in which everything was lost, went reaching out, beyond stars and sun. Stars and sun, a few bright grains, went spiraling round for terror, and holding each other in embrace, there in a darkness that outpassed them all, and left them tiny and daunted. So much, and himself, infinitesimal, at the core of nothingness, and yet not nothing.
Let me sing you a waltz / Out of nowhere, out of my thoughts / Let me sing you a waltz / About this one night stand / You were, for me, that night / Everything I always dreamt of in life / But now you're gone / You are far gone / All the way to your island of rain / It was for you just a one night thing / But you were much more to me, just so you know / I don't care what they say / I know what you meant for me that day / I just want another try, I just want another night / Even if it doesn't seem quite right / You meant for me much more than anyone I've met before / One single night with you, little Jesse, is worth a thousand with anybody / I have no bitterness, my sweet / I'll never forget this one night thing / Even tomorrow in other arms, my heart will stay yours until I die / Let me sing you a waltz / Out of nowhere, out of my blues / Let me sing you a waltz / About this lovely one night stand
There is no night life in Spain. They stay up late but they get up late. That is not night life. That is delaying the day. Night life is when you get up with a hangover in the morning. Night life is when everybody says what the hell and you do not remember who paid the bill. Night life goes round and round and you look at the wall to make it stop. Night life comes out of a bottle and goes into a jar. If you think how much are the drinks it is not night life.
The nights you fight best arewhen all the weapons are pointed at you, when all the voices hurl their insultswhile the dream is being strangled. The nights you fight best arewhen reason gets kicked in the gut, when the chariots of gloom encircle you. The nights you fight best arewhen the laughter of fools fills the air, when the kiss of death is mistaken for love. The nights you fight best arewhen the game is fixed, when the crowd screams for your blood. The nights you fight best areon a night like thisas you chase a thousand dark rats from your brain, as you rise up against the impossible, as you become a brother to the tender sister of joyand move on regardless.
The eastward spurs tip backward from the sun.Nights runs an obscure tide round cape and bayand beats with boats of cloud up from the seaagainst this sheer and limelit granite head.Swallow the spine of range; be dark. O lonely air.Make a cold quilt across the bone and skullthat screamed falling in flesh from the lipped cliffand then were silent, waiting for the flies.Here is the symbol, and climbing darka time for synthesis. Night buoys no warningover the rocks that wait our keels; no bellssound for the mariners. Now must we measureour days by nights, our tropics by their poles,love by its end and all our speech by silence.See in the gulfs, how small the light of home.Did we not know their blood channelled our rivers,and the black dust our crops ate was their dust?O all men are one man at last. We should have knownthe night that tidied up the cliffs and hid themhad the same question on its tongue for us.And there they lie that were ourselves writ strange.Never from earth again the coolamonor thin black children dancing like the shadowsof saplings in the wind. Night lips the harshscarp of the tableland and cools its granite.Night floods us suddenly as historythat has sunk many islands in its good time.
Do not go gentle into that good night Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night... Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce. And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite as much.
After a sleepless night the body gets weaker, It becomes dear and not yours - and nobody's. Just like a seraph you smile to people. And arrows moan in the slow arteries. After a sleepless night the arms get weaker. And deeply equal to you are the friend and foe. Smells like Florence in the frost, and in each. Sudden sound is the whole rainbow. Tenderly light the lips, and the shadow's golden. Near the sunken eyes. Here the night has sparked. This brilliant likeness - and from the dark night. Only just one thing - the eyes - are growing dark.
But we were never lonely and never afraid when we were together. I know that the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started. But with Catherine there was almost no difference in the night except that it was an even better time. If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.