c2p-cmd/Good-Quotes-Authors huggingface dataset:
It may well be on such a night of clouds and cruel colors that there is brought forth upon the earth such a portent as a respectable poet. You say you are a poet of law
—  I say you are a contradiction in terms. I only wonder there were not comets and earthquakes on the night you appeared in this garden.
Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon...
— Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale
For, he (The Devil) observed, the issue of the great battle of Good and Evil had been otherwise settled, as he would presently show him. "It wants but a few moments of night," he continued, "and over this interval of twilight, as you know, I have been given complete control. Look to the West.("The Legend of Monte Del Diablo")
— Bret Harte
There is a dead spot in the night, that coldest, blackest time when the world has forgotten evening and dawn is not yet a promise. A time when it is far too early to arise, but so late that going to bed makes small sense.
— Robin Hobb, Assassin's Quest
it'll be this kind of deep blue”she said. “The kind of color that somehow sucks your eyes and your ears and all your words —the color of a completely closed-in night
— Banana Yoshimoto, Asleep
One thing about London is that when you step out into the night, it swallows you.
— Sebastian Faulks, Engleby
A cold wind raced across the surrounding fields of wild grass, turning the land into a heaving dark-green ocean. It sighed up through the branches of cherry trees and rattled the thick leaves. Sometimes a cherry would break loose, tumble in the gale, fall and split, filling the night with its fragrance. The air was iron and loam and growth. He walked and tried to pull these things into his lungs, the silence and coolness of them.But someone was screaming, deep inside him. Someone was talking. ("Hunger")
— Charles Beaumont, Shock!
Magic of the nights is always much impressive than the magic of the days! ~
— Mehmet Murat ildan
From the floor, I see the tops of the Philadelphia skyline out of her window. Staring at it, I realize that the night sky isn't really black, which is the way I've always thought of it. It's actually a dark shade of blue, the darkest possible.
— Siobhan Vivian, Same Difference
An Evening AirI go out in the grey eveningIn the air the odor of flowers and the sounds of lamentation.I go out into the hard loneliness of the barren field of grey eveningIn the air the odor of flowers and the sounds of lamentation.In the gathering darkness a long, swift train suddenly Passes me like a lighting.Hard and ponderous and loud are the wheels.As ponderous as the darkness, and as beautiful.I look on, enchanted, and listen to the sounds of lamentationIn the soft fragrant air.The long rails, grey-dark, smooth as a serpent, shiver, andA soft, low thing cries out in the distance,But the sounds are hard and heavy,In the air the odor of flowers and the sounds of lamentation.
— Samar Sen
What a night it was! The jagged masses of heavy dark cloud were rolling at intervals from horizon to horizon, and thin white wreaths covered the stars. Through all the rush of the cloud river the moon swam, breasting the waves and disappearing again in the darkness.I walked up and down, drinking in the beauty of the quiet earth and the changing sky. The night was absolutely silent. Nothing seemed to be abroad. There was no scurrying of rabbits, or twitter of the half-asleep birds. And though the clouds went sailing across the sky, the wind that drove them never came low enough to rustle the dead leaves in the woodland paths. Across the meadows I could see the church tower standing out black and grey against the sky. ("Man Size In Marble")
— E. Nesbit, Ghost Stories
You deicde, and you make our night what you want. Brilliant and ours. Stupid and theirs.
— Arthur Phillips, The Tragedy of Arthur
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.
— Henry James, The Jolly Corner
White-crested waves crash on the shore. The masts sway violently, every which way. In the gray sky the gulls are circling like white flakes. Rain squalls blow past like gray slanting sails, and blue gaps open in the sky. The air brightens.	A cold silvery evening. The moon is overhead, and down below, in the water; and all around it-a wide frame of old, hammered, scaly silver. Etched on the silver-silent black fishing boats, tiny black needles of masts, little black men casting invisible lines into the silver. And the only sounds are the occasional plashing of an oar, the creaking of an oarlock, the springlike leap and flip-flop of a fish. ("The North")
— Yevgeny Zamyatin, The Dragon: Fifteen Stories
As he took them in his arms, the crying of the babies permeated the night like a trail of blood calling out to a predator.
— Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Midnight Palace
The night folded around them with a sweetness and poignancy heightened by the new pale stars that prickled silver fire in the water of the lily ponds, by the scented winds, and by the nearness of each other.
— Pauline Gedge, Child of the Morning
Viktor looked at the older man’s nightshirt, robe, and nightcap. His lips quirked into a smile. “The hour is late, and the household sleeps. How is it that you are still awake?”“I knew you would be knocking on the door sooner or later.” Pickles looked down his long nose at him. “You have passed the previous six nights with Her Ladyship.”“You are observant, my good man.”“No, Your Highness, I am the one who locks the door at night.” Pickles reached into his robe’s pocket and produced a key. He passed it to the prince, saying, “After tonight, let yourself into thehouse.”Viktor grinned at the majordomo and lifted the key out of his hand. “Your trust honors me.”“You are unlikely to abscond with the silver,” Pickles drawled.
— Patricia Grasso, Seducing the Prince
I ran from them. Nights, yellow lights scoured sand. What was ever found but women in skirts folded around the men they loved that Friday? No one found me. And how could that have been, here, whereeven botanical names were recordedand small roads mapped in red?Night, the sky is black paper pecked with pinholes.
— Deborah Ager
the train plunges on through the pitch-black nightI never knew I liked the night pitch-blacksparks fly from the engineI didn't know I loved sparksI didn't know I loved so many things and I had to wait until sixty to find it out sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train watching the world disappear as if on a journey of no return
— Nazim Hikmet
I look up upon a sparsely starred abyssHaving wandered to this street cornerIn the middle of the nightWatching the cars and people go byWonderingIf this deep, black nothingnessIs the sum total of being human.
— Justin Wetch, Bending The Universe
Under a night’s skyFilled with a hundred billion starsIs it so crazy to believeOur paths were destined to cross?
— Justin Wetch, Bending The Universe
But tonight is a gusty, hurrying night . . . even the clouds racing over the sky are in a hurry and the moonlight that gushes out between them is in a hurry to flood the world.
— L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Windy Poplars
Night would settle in like slow blindness, sucking the color from the trees and the low sky and the rocks and the frozen grass and the frost white hydrangeas until there was nothing left in the window but her own reflection.
— Anita Shreve, The Pilot's Wife
It wasn't night, it was simply darkness, with me in the middle hoping all the while that time was carrying on flowing, that something would crop up, me all alone in the middle, with my veins and my muscles dissolving rapidly into nothingness, me made of molecules of flesh and thought, dispersing in a cloud (a process of expansion as sudden as that of the room, a nebula of bedroom and me, between limits that grew dimmer by the moment).
— Marie Darrieussecq, My Phantom Husband
A man who is awake in the open field at night or who wanders over silent paths experiences the world differently than by day. Nighness vanishes, and with it distance; everything is equally far and near, close by us and yet mysteriously remote. Space loses its measures. There are whispers and sounds, and we do not know where or what they are. Our feelings too are peculiarly ambiguous. There is a strangeness about what is intimate and dear, and a seductive charm about the frightening. There is no longer a distinction between the lifeless and the living, everything is animate and soulless, vigilant and asleep at once. What the day brings on and makes recognizable gradually, emerges out of the dark with no intermediary stages. The encounter suddenly confronts us, as if by a miracle: What is the thing we suddenly see - an enchanted bride, a monster, or merely a log? Everything teases the traveller, puts on a familiar face and the next moment is utterly strange, suddenly terrifies with awful gestures and immediately resumes a familiar and harmless posture.Danger lurks everywhere. Out of the dark jaws of the night which gape beside the traveller, any moment a robber may emerge without warning, or some eerie terror, or the uneasy ghost of a dead man - who knows what may once have happened at that very spot? Perhaps mischievous apparitions of the fog seek to entice him from the right path into the desert where horror dwells, where wanton witches dance their rounds which no man ever leaves alive. Who can protect him, guide him aright, give him good counsel? The spirit of Night itself, the genius of its kindliness, its enchantment, its resourcefulness, and its profound wisdom. She is indeed the mother of all mystery. The weary she wraps in slumber, delivers from care, and she causes dreams to play about their souls. Her protection is enjoyed by the un-happy and persecuted as well as by the cunning, whom her ambivalent shadows offer a thousand devices and contrivances. With her veil she also shields lovers, and her darkness keeps ward over all caresses, all charms hidden and revealed. Music is the true language of her mystery - the enchanting voice which sounds for eyes that are closed and in which heaven and earth, the near and the far, man and nature, present and past, appear to make themselves understood.But the darkness of night which so sweetly invites to slumber also bestows new vigilance and illumination upon the spirit. It makes it more perceptive, more acute, more enterprising. Knowledge flares up, or descends like a shooting star - rare, precious, even magical knowledge.And so night, which can terrify the solitary man and lead him astray, can also be his friend, his helper, his counsellor.
— Walter F. Otto, The Homeric Gods: Spiritual Significance of Greek Religion
Night, I have discovered, has a faintly bitter taste, caused by its large ingredient of Un-attained Possibility.
— Christopher Morley, John Mistletoe
Sucked in and turned around by the blades, the night at first flows smoothly, but then it starts to take on a denser consistency. Already the night was nearly halfway through its course, so a good portion of it had hardened. Because of this, as I walked through it, it gave me none of the easy, buoyant feeling you get in the early-evening hours. Something about it seemed creaky. But that was, in its own way, typical of the night too.
— Hiromi Kawakami, Nadepnęłam na węża
Walking through a deserted city in the hours before dawn is sobering way beyond the undoing of the effects of alcohol. Every thing is familiar, and everything is strange. It's as if you are the only survivor of some mysterious calamity which has emptied the place of its population, and yet you know that behind the shuttered and curtained windows people lie sleeping in their tens of thousands, and all their joys and disasters lie sleeping too. It makes you think of your own life, usually suspended at that hour, and how you are passing through it as if in a dream. Reality seems very unreal.
— James Robertson, The Testament of Gideon Mack
Man thalabal ‘ula sahiral layali.” He who wants glory will work late into the night. -184
— Ahmad Fuadi, Negeri 5 Menara
It was the time of night that precedes dawn and is without perspective or reason. It was the hour when regret and fear overwhelm hope and courage and when all that is ugly in us is magnified and when we are most panic-stricken by what we have lost, and what we have almost lost, and what we fear we might lose.
— Alexandra Fuller, Scribbling the Cat
Do you not hear the loud gallop of the Storm-riders and the thunderous battle horn from their Heralds, coming from the high seas? Night falls, and so will you.
— Mladen Đorđević, Svetioničar - Vesnici oluje
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.
— Susan Hill, Through the Garden Gate
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.
— Roshani Chokshi, Death and Night
Night heralded sleep and shadows, demons and dreams. But I heralded the night.
— Roshani Chokshi, Death and Night
She likes the mystery of that changeover, those fifteen minutes of sundown when the streets and trees and people and parked cars are delicate and immediate, every sound and smell and movement amplified by the lowest light or the lightest darkness. Even a city that’s broken and dirty can, in that time, be divine and intimate.
— Jardine Libaire, White Fur
The sun loves the moon so much that he dies every night to let her breathe, and in return, she reflects his love.
— Jeffrey Fry, Distilled Thoughts
These summer nights are short. Going to bed before midnight is unthinkable and talk, wine, moonlight and the warm air are often in league to defer it one, two or three hours more. It seems only a moment after falling asleep out of doors that dawn touches one gently on the shoulder, and, completely refreshed, up one gets, or creeps into the shade or indoors for another luxurious couple of hours. The afternoon is the time for real sleep: into the abyss one goes to emerge when the colours begin to revive and the world to breathe again about five o'clock, ready once more for the rigours and pleasures of late afternoon, the evening, and the night.
— Patrick Leigh Fermor, Mani: Travels in the Southern Peloponnese
In day-time we investigate, but at night believe.
— James Slack
The dawn is your enemy.
— adult swim
Don’t wait up for me tonight, for the night will be black and white.
— Gérard de Nerval, Selected Writings
We take a last look out of the window at the night, and I send a silent wish to everyone out there for this kind of warmth.
— Nina LaCour, We Are Okay
Last night, I was a mad man searching for a whiff of your fragrance. The stars and the moon even laughed at me.
— Avijeet Das
It was raining that night, when we kissed for the first time.
— Avijeet Das
Persons in whom a crisis takes place pass the night preceding the paroxysm uncomfortably, but the succeeding night generally more comfortably.
— Hippocrates, Aphorisms
Why didn't anyone question "It's been a hard days night" Who talks like that anyway?
— Chuck Bridges
It is inevitable that there will come a time when mankind will go out more at night and stay indoors during the day to avoid harmful solar rays.
— Nabil N. Jamal
I’m here for you. Always. Do you feel me?Hear me? I talk to you every night, does it reach you?
— Charlotte Eriksson
And all of the late, late-night talks, when you're not stoned, but you're so tired you might as well be, when you just sit there glowing with warmth, and all of those things that you really hope for come out, and you connect with each other on such deep levels that, when you think about it the next day, you wonder if it was real - if the others felt it too.
— Steven Brust, The Sun, the Moon, & the Stars
Outside the windows, everything is getting darker. First the yellow dies from the light, then the green and pink. The world is a blue version of itself, momentarily, before the blue snuffs out, too and it is all night.
— Alexandra Kleeman, You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine
Learn to reverence night and to put away the vulgar fear of it, for, with the banishment of night from the experience of man, there vanishes as well a religious emotion, a poetic mood, which gives depth to the adventure of humanity. By day, space is one with the earth and with man--it is his sun that is shining, his clouds that are floating past; at night, space is his no more.
— Henry Beston, The Outermost House: A Year of Life On The Great Beach of Cape Cod
Did you have a sad day? Don’t worry, you have all the night to compensate for it! Did you have a sad night? Don’t worry, you have all the day to compensate for it!
— Mehmet Murat ildan
I resign, the evening seemed to say, as it paled and faded above the battlements and prominences, moulded, pointed, of hotel, flat, and block of shops, I fade, she was beginning, I disappear, but London would have none of it, and rushed her bayonets into the sky, pinioned her, constrained her to partnership in her revelry.
— Virginia Woolf
She wanted to reach up to the night and dig her fingers into it, beg it to stay just a little bit longer.
— Adi Alsaid, Let's Get Lost
One day I was able to get up, after gathering all my strength. I wanted to see myself in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. I had not seen myself since the ghetto. From the depths of the mirror, a corpse gazed back at me. The look in his eyes, as they stared into mine, has never left me.
— Elie Wiesel, Night
It was easy to conclude: The night was young and alive, in its ever so subtle way.
— Lauren Lola, An Absolute Mind
It was a beautiful spring night, the air rain-washed and smelling of crushed blossoms, and Henry felt as if the muscles of his body were singing in unison.
— Peter  Swanson, Her Every Fear
Something moved on the grounds down beneath my window — cast a long spider of shadow out across the grass as it ran out of sight behind a hedge. When it ran back to where I could get a better look, I saw it was a dog, a young, gangly mongrel slipped off from home to find out about things went on after dark. He was sniffing digger squirrel holes, not with a notion to go digging after one but just to get an idea what they were up to at this hour. He’d run his muzzle down a hole, butt up in the air and tail going, then dash off to another. The moon glistened around him on the wet grass, and when he ran he left tracks like dabs of dark paint spattered across the blue shine of the lawn. Galloping from one particularly interesting hole to the next, he became so took with what was coming off — the moon up there, the night, the breeze full of smells so wild makes a young dog drunk — that he had to lie down on his back and roll. He twisted and thrashed around like a fish, back bowed and belly up, and when he got to his feet and shook himself a spray came off him in the moon like silver scales.
— Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Why are we sneaking out in the night?” Jack repeated.“I already explained,” Sam snapped. “If you don’t listen—”Taylor jumped in to say, “Because otherwise Astrid would find some way to stop him.” She mimicked Astrid’s voice, injecting it with steel and a tense, condescending tone. “Sam. I am the smartest, hottest girl in the world. So do what I tell you. Good boy. Down, boy. Down!”Sam remained silent, walking steadily just a few feet ahead.Taylor continued, “Oh, Sam, if only you could be as smart plus as totally goody-goody as I am. If only you could realize that you will never be good enough to have me, me, wonderful me, Astrid the Blond Genius.”“Sam, can I shoot her now?” Dekka asked. “Or is it too soon?”“Wait until we’re over the ridge,” Sam said. “It’ll muffle the sound.”“Sorry, Dekka,” Taylor said. “I know you don’t like talking about boy-girl things.”“Taylor,” Sam warned.“Yes, Sam?”“You might want to think about how hard it would be to walk if someone were to turn off gravity under your feet every now and then.”“I wonder who would do that?” Dekka said.Suddenly Taylor fell flat on her face.“You tripped me!” Taylor said, more shocked than angry.“Me?” Dekka spread her hands in a completely unconvincing gesture of innocence. “Hey, I’m all the way over here.”“I’m just saying: you can see where that could make a long walk just a lot longer,” Sam said.“You guys are so not fun,” Taylor grumped. She bounced instantaneously to just behind Sam. She grabbed his butt, he yelled, “Hey!” and she bounced away innocently.“To answer your question, Jack,” Sam said, “we are sneaking out at night so that everyone doesn’t know we’re gone and why. They’ll figure it out soon enough, but Edilio will have to have more of his guys on the streets if I’m not there playing the big, bad wolf. More stress for everyone.”“Oh,” Jack said.“The big, bad wolf,” Taylor said. She laughed. “So, when you play that fantasy in your head is Astrid Little Red Riding Hood or one of the Three Little Pigs?”“Dekka,” Sam said.“Hah! Too slow!
— Michael  Grant, Plague
Woodget glanced into the dim shadows behind the trees. "What you be hiding fer?" he called."On such a night as this even the greatest may hide and not be ashamed," came the response.
— Robin Jarvis, Thomas
Rape, cockroaches... are still a real nightmare.
— Deyth Banger
A library at night is full of sounds: the unread books can't stand it any longer and announce their contents, some boasting, some shy, some devious.
— Helen Oyeyemi, What is Not Yours is Not Yours
Time did exist here, in small amounts (well some of the time) – and there were feint eddies and currents of time here, things that were barely tangible. Feint forces of the universe they were, nearly indiscernible from the nothingness like a warm breeze on a hot summer night. How long he had been here, he knew not – but he was slowly learning to master these barely tangible waves like a new surfer with one foot on the sandy beach and the other on a shiny new board of Hatred. Revenge splashed around his feet like the cold waves of the ocean of Time. Nearby, two other inmates collided with each other, bounced apart spread-eagled and spiraled off into the distance in infinite slowness. The Wetsuit of Insanity clung to his spiritual body, isolating him from the timelessness that seemed to exist here. A wind of Change blew at him from behind and he pushed off from the beach with iron determination and a mental clarity hereto before unknown to him. Something in the microcosm that didn’t even have a name went ‘bling’ and against all the laws of probability, Brad Xyl opened his eyes.
— Christina Engela, The Time Saving Agency
Tread not into the fearsome nightBut pull the covers high,Step not into the wild dark woodFor the Hobbers are dancing nigh
— Robin Jarvis, The Oaken Throne
Sunsets.The illusion either above the horizon or below it. When day and night are linked in a way that cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time.
— Ebelsain Villegas
All he could do was wait like this, patiently, until it grew light out and the birds awoke and began their day. All he could do was trust in the birds, in all the birds, with their wings and beaks.
— Haruki Murakami, Kino
Day and night. Give and take. But never to die. Each have their time.
— Zechariah Barrett
Mongkol, poor Mongkol, shedding tears.Thinking of his smiling, comical face, and his dreams of sending his son to university, I could only lower my head in silence.And the night continued, cold and dark, the wind frozen beyond the mountains.
— You Jin, Death by Perfume
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.
— Gregory Maguire, After Alice
Battles waged in daylight are fought by soldiers. Battles waged at night are fought by savages.
— Lance Conrad, The Price of Loyalty
The ugly people aren't accepted so far... but so far I don't the problem is ugly thing... it's because they are zombies... so far you can have and a night with a zombie!
— Deyth Banger
They began their climb, already weary, and the sun tried to steal whatever strength they had left. It was another god, a forgotten god, who gave a daily reminder, and was forgotten again each night.
— Dean F. Wilson, Worldwaker
I suppose even monsters can be afraid of the dark.
— Leslye Walton, A Tyranny of Petticoats
Where all was burnt to ash before them no fires were to be had and the nights were long and dark and cold beyond anything they'd yet encountered. Cold to crack the stones. To take your life.
— Cormac McCarthy, The Road
Night was come, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night: too serene for the companionship of fear. We know that God is everywhere; but certainly we feel His presence most when His works are on the grandest scale spread before us; and it is in the unclouded night-sky, where His worlds wheel their silent course, that we read clearest His infinitude, His omnipotence, His omnipresence.
— Charlotte Brontë
Then she called Gansey.It rang twice, three times, and then: "Hello?"He sounded boyish and ordinary. Blue asked, "Did I wake you up?"She heard Gansey fumble for and scrape up his wireframes."No," he lied, "I was awake.""I called you by accident anyway. I meant to call Congress, but your number was one off.""Oh?""Yeah, because yours has 6-6-5 in it." She paused. "Get it?""Oh, you.""6-6-5. One number different. Get it?""Yeah, I got it.
— Maggie Stiefvater, Blue Lily, Lily Blue
it is the deep-black-sky quiet time of night, which is the halfway time between the sun setting and the sun rising when even the night animals are quiet—as if they, like day animals, take a break in the middle of their work to rest.
— Alexandra Fuller
Yo me salgo desnudo a la calle,maduro de versos perdidos.I step naked into the streetripe with lost poems.
— Federico García Lorca, Collected Poems
He rose and stood tottering in that cold dark with his arms held out for balance while the vestibular calculations in his skull cranked out their reckonings. An old chronicle. To seek out the upright. No fall but preceded by a declination... Upright to what? Something nameless in the night, lode or matrix. To which he and the stars were common satellite. Like the great pendulum in its rotunda scribing through the long day movements of the universe of which you may say it knows nothing and yet know it must.
— Cormac McCarthy, The Road
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.
— Cormac McCarthy
Bored with the upsetting realities of the day? Then leave yourself to the calming mysteries of the night!
— Mehmet Murat ildan
MELODYLong chorus,pierce the night.Noon for crickets.
— Tara Estacaan
Rubbing noses with me, she laughed, and I swear the Elysian night sang with the sound of it.
— Jovee Winters
In the shores of twilight,Wide and deep as your eyes,I swim.In a way, I feel herNight, a crowned goddess commanding the stars to swim, So peaceful, even death escapes into serenity. Stars so far, they seem as they tell the living world,  lights, live into shinning, die into nothingness. Worlds I want to travel, away to shadows of your eyes in the hold of your lips. So far, so far away.... As your kiss, as my lover.Night, With a soft touch, Touches my face, winds to the trees, sunlight on grass, life, breath, so quite, death screams in the abyss, a black pearl with grains of sand.The dance of the night..reminds me of her. Her tender laughter, the gleam in her enormous eyes, her soft whirlpool lips. As a reflection from dark streams, She reveals hot love, Nothing hidden, no shame, just love that hurts. The solace in the night makes me cry...The lights of stars as arrows to me.Night, Hits my eyes, Beauty of the wilderness, Calling me, Homeless in a city, naked on cold steel  At home with the sea, with night above, foam of waters breaks below. As my companion, friend I speak to. I say to the night sky. Does she love me? When travels of the heart goes outside of me, outside the seas into clouds of your warmth, To another place in her heart trying to find out... Does your heart want me to visit or stay?Night, Calm is the winds, feeling the air, Night, She is beautiful.. Hitting me with such painful softness, I don't want day to arrive, I want to stay.. In the night, Peaceful, loving...with you...Night...vast space in time, Nothing, empty, to hold, for night, you are me. For I cannot have her.  A love vast, beautiful and alone. For in the night, We see each other, In the light, Nothing hidden, Everything revealed, Night..I love you.,,as I love her.  For I don't have her but I have you. As my love, invisible and forever waiting like a lost sailor in the night sea....
— Albert Alexander Bukoski
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.
— Nabil TOUSSI
The night was so balmy that breathing ceased to be a habitual sensation, becoming much closer to something like the gaseous ingestion of a mango, the velvet caress of a hand or the soft skin of a fresh peach. Sleeping, lying down or sitting up, was, on that night, a divine human penitence, a miracle unexpected and unrealized, intuitive and peaceful in a unique opportunity.
— Ondjaki, The Whistler
And yet it seems so full of comfort and of strength, the night. In its great presence, our small sorrows creep away, ashamed. The day has been so full of fret and care, and our hearts have been so full of evil and bitter thoughts, and the world has seemed so hard and wrong to us. Then night, like some great loving mother, gently lays her hand upon our fevered head, and turns our little tear-stained face upto hers, and smiles, and though she does not speak, we know what she would say, and lay our hot flushed cheek against her bosom, and the pain is gone.Sometimes, our pain is very deep and real, and we stand before her very silent, because there is no language for our pain, only a moan. Night's heart is full of pity for us: she cannot ease our aching; she takes our hand in hers, and the little world grows very small and very far away beneath us, and borne on her dark wings, we pass for a moment into a mightier presence than her own, and in the wondrous light of that great presence, all human life's like a book before us, and we know that Pain and Sorrow are but the angels of God.
— Jerome K. Jerome
She didn't fear the night, though she found little comfort in its dark hours.
— Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass
A radiant full moon of silver hangs in the black sky, between the veils of misty clouds.
— Moonshine Noire
All the best secrets are told at night.
— Mark  Lawrence, Prince of Fools
With night's Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.
— Adelaide Crapsey, Verse by Adelaide Crapsey
The night is the blink of a day
— Jaime Tenorio Valenzuela
In the beauty of the mornings we forget about the night; in the beauty of the night we forget about the mornings! When you meet the beauty, you drop anchor in the present time and all other times disappear from your mind!
— Mehmet Murat ildan
The lamp hummed:'Regard the moon,La lune ne garde aucune rancune,She winks a feeble eye,She smiles into corners.She smoothes the hair of the grass.The moon has lost her memory.A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,Her hand twists a paper rose,That smells of dust and old Cologne,She is aloneWith all the old nocturnal smellsThat cross and cross across her brain."The reminiscence comesOf sunless dry geraniumsAnd dust in crevices,Smells of chestnuts in the streets,And female smells in shuttered rooms,And cigarettes in corridorsAnd cocktail smells in bars.
— T.S. Eliot
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
— Adelaide Crapsey, Verse by Adelaide Crapsey
In the darkness and the snow, the street is emptyand it is just the night, the ice and me.
— Miriam Joy, Crossroads Poetry
Darkness disturbedBy the haunting white moonlightGrey half clouds fail to containThe moon's lust for the night.
— Sreesha Divakaran
It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader. The sky was so starry, so bright that, looking at it, one could not help asking oneself whether ill-humoured and capricious people could live under such a sky. That is a youthful question too, dear reader, very youthful, but may the Lord put it more frequently into your heart!
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky
The things that happen in the night are hidden even from the night.
— Marty Rubin
The only thing I’d understand right from the very beginning was that our love was supported by loneliness. That neither one of us could haul ourselves up out of the deadly numbness we felt when we lay together, so silent, in darkness so isolating it seemed to shine. This was the edge of night.
— Banana Yoshimoto
I studied a crescent moon hung crooked in a plum purple sky and thought about what it would be like to truly be seen.
— Laura Whitcomb, A Certain Slant of Light
I do this so you cannot help but hear. a wise man views a moonless night with fear.
— Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear
In the darkness of the night while removing the long colourful gown that covers my nakedness, there is chill penetrating bare cells and the sky is as silent as ever. Another day has withered unto the lap of mighty earth, to make her heart fertile, to feed those lives sprouting and then again to raise up to the skies to kiss life! This home is not yours, nor this earth! A breeze that caresses the orphan longings of the senses, like that of the softest music – so is life, a passing breeze! All I own is this moment! O night, do you see stars blinking hidden amidst the darkest clouds? O life, can you inhale the fragrance of unborn flowers dancing wet in the rain? O life, do you hear a song from the farthest skies, a secret melody of silence that I cherish deep within?
— Preeth Nambiar, The Solitary Shores
This will be the night I escape. The thought repeated in my mind like a refrain, over and over, and I believed it so hard that I whispered it aloud: ‘This will be the night I escape!
— Kendall Kulper, Salt & Storm
Cemeteries can be creepy, creepy, ‘specially at night.
— Jason Medina, A Ghost In New Orleans
Later, I walked towards the dorm circle beside Alaska. The cicadas hummed their one-note song, just as they had at home in Florida. She turned to me as we made our way through the darkness and said,"When you’re walking at night, do you ever get creeped out and even though it’s silly and embarrassing you just want to run home?”It seemed too secret and personal to admit to a virtual stranger but I told her, “Yeah, totally.”For a moment, she was quiet. Then she grabbed my hand, whispered,“Run run run run run,” and took off, pulling me behind her.
— John Green, Looking for Alaska
The day here is a something without value, a mere torment suffered by living creatures as they await the night. Night is deliverance.
— Tayeb Salih, Season of Migration to the North
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.
— John Steinbeck, Tortilla Flat
I've often been sorry to see a night end, even while I have loved seeing the dawn come.
— Marilynne Robinson
Stars are cracks of light for night than pierces the heart. (Étoiles sont fissures de lumière - De la nuit que transperce le cœur.)
— Charles de Leusse
Overhead the sliver of a moon barely illuminated anything and shadows slunk on every corner.
— Katherine McIntyre, Stolen Petals
They were the most romantic creatures in the city in that room. If their days were spent in banks and office buildings, no matter: Their true lives began when they walked through this door—and were baptized into a deeper faith, as if brought to life by miraculous immersion. They lived only for the night.
— Andrew Holleran, Dancer from the Dance
Ignore the reek of feces in the air, the bloodstains on the ground, and you have yourself a glorious night.
— Katherine McIntyre, Stolen Petals
Somewhere in the night ahuman being is drowning.
— Marina Tsvetaeva, Selected Poems
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
— Sylvia Plath, Ariel
Those who wake at this hour feel a lonely separation from everyone but night birds and ghost crabs, never imagining the legion of kindred souls scattered in the darkness, who stare at ceilings and pace floors and look out windows and covet and worry and mourn.
— Kathy Hepinstall, Blue Asylum
There is a romance about all those who are abroad in the black hours.
— Robert Louis Stevenson
...yes, in the obscured sky a moon does float, newly, a wishing moon, a sliver of ancient rock, a goddess, a wink.
— Margaret Atwood
And that night he couldn't sleep, but lay looking out at the light June night which was full of lonely whisperings and rustlings and the pattering of feet. The air was sweet with the smell of flowers.
— Tove Jansson, Finn Family Moomintroll
Love in a night shall live and die,Love in a day shall wing and fly;Love in the Spring shall last an hour,Easily fade a spring-tide flower.
— Aleister Crowley, White Stains & the Nameless Novel: Flowers of Eros and Evil
Our backyard looked like a marketplace. Valuable objects, precious rugs, silver candlesticks, Bibles and other ritual objects were strewn over the dusty grounds- pitiful relics that seemed never to have had a home. All this under a magnificent blue sky.
— Elie Wiesel, Night
Nights are rebellious, they only demand the truth
— Mehek Bassi
The last thought on your mind before you sleep is like a mirror showing you the reflection of who you are! No matter what you pretend to be all-day long, that one last thought is enough to sum up your entire life.
— Mehek Bassi
It's an easy guess, why some get famous over night and not during the day.
— Aleksandra Ninkovic, Write like no one is reading
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour which the night fastens to all timetables.
— Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
Tahtahta-ha-ha' clattered the wheels. A lamp outside the window nodded to him. Another. A third. The lamps ceased to wink. Night without winking clung to the windows.("Adam")
— Andrei Bely, The Silver Age of Russian Culture: An Anthology
And I played music through the night, alone, echoing through the halls. My life, alive through note.
— Jonathan P. Lamas, Sanctuary of Expression
Seeing that I would never manage to fall asleep, I arose, lit a candle, and after dressing went outside.Beneath the dull glow of the winter moon the snow glowed like pale blue china. The sidewalks sparkled weakly beneath the rays of the flickering street lamps; the benumbed streets slumbered forlornly. I walked, passing one corner after the other, and suddenly found myself on the edge of town. Further, beyond the square, an endless expanse began to glisten with a somber silverness.I stopped just before the gates. My intent gaze could distinguish nothing in the distant white expanse. Before me rose the imposing bank of the Volga like a gigantic snowdrift. So barren and uninviting was this deserted view resembling eternity that my heart contracted.I turned to the right and approached quite close to the monastery enclosure. From behind the bronze gates, glimmered a dense net of crosses and gravestones. The ancient eyes of the church gazed forbiddingly down on me, and with an eerie feeling I thought of the monks sleeping at this moment in tomb-like cells together with corpses. Were any of them thinking of the hour of death on this night?("Lamia")
— Boris Sadovskoy, The Silver Age of Russian Culture: An Anthology
At night is when my mind comes alive.
— Poem Porns
The Cottage Diner’s homey lights glowed onto black asphalt which just sucked up the beams to spit out more shadows.
— Katherine McIntyre, Poisoned Apple
The nights did not come gently but seemed to slam down angrily upon the Earth.
— Rick Yancey, The Infinite Sea
It was the deepest part of the night. There was a name for it that I couldn’t remember – that mystical black hour where all is darkest and you can’t sleep, when the weight of all your sorrows and bad decisions come weighing on you most heavily, and when the monsters scratch just outside your door.
— kkat, Fallout: Equestria
Like a forest rose the huge peaks above the slumbering village, measuring the night and heavens. They beckoned him. And something born of the snowy desolation, born of the midnight and silent grandeur, born of the great listening hollows of the night, something that lay 'twixt terror and wonder, dropped from the vast wintry spaces down into his heart-- and called him. Very softly, unrecorded in any word or thought his brain could compass, it laid its spell upon him. Fingers of snow brushed the surface of his heart. The power and quiet majesty of the winter's night appalled him....-The Glamour of the Snow
— Algernon Blackwood, Best Ghost Stories of Algernon Blackwood
Our first act as free men was to throw ourselves onto the provisions. thats all we thought about. No thought of revenge, or of parents. Only of bread.
— Elie Wiesel
What a fucking gorgeous night!
— Kirsten Hubbard, Like Mandarin
40Wednesday has been canceled due to a scheduling error.
— Ceciil Baldwin
I love the night. Anything seems possible at night when the rest of the world has gone to sleep. It's dark and silent in the house, but if I listen close, I hear the beat beat beat of my heart. I hear the creak and crack of the house. I hear my mum breathing gently in her sleep in the room next door.
— David Almond
Some nights are just too long when you don't know what keeps you awake...
— Amit Aarav
It is unnecessary to heighten the glory of day by comparing it with the preceding twilight.
— Catharine Maria Sedgwick, Hope Leslie: or, Early Times in the Massachusetts
The long night begins.
— Mark Simo, RKU: Not to Be Seen or Heard by the Rest of the World
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.
— Samuel Snoek-Brown, Hagridden
Two-thirty in the morning was kind of a bitch as times went. It fell into the in-between, nowhere land. Too late to get a really good night's sleep, but much too early to start the day.
— Kylie Scott, Lead
Night was fading over the fields as if the rain had washed the darkness out of the hem of its garment.
— Cornelia Funke, Inkheart
The Jewish day begins in the calm of evening, when it won't shock the system with its arrival.
— Nathan Englander, For the Relief of Unbearable Urges
But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy waysI 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.
— John Keats, The Complete Poems
What's done at night belongs to the night. In the daytime you don't talk about it.
— Jean-Paul Sartre, The Respectable Prostitute/Lucifer and the Lord/In Camera
Day must be an exciting friend, but night is a truthful one.
— Himanshu Chhabra
I always found in myself a dread of west and love of east. Where I ever got such an idea I cannot say, unless it could be that morning came over the peaks of the Gabilans and the night drifted back from the ridges of the Santa Lucias. It may be that the birth and death of the day had some part in my feeling about the two ranges of mountains.
— John Steinbeck, East of Eden
The night sky made her feel infinite before she knew the word.
— Thomm Quackenbush, Artificial Gods
She held the moth to the light. It was nearer brown than yellow,and she remembered having seen some like it in the boxes that afternoon.It was not the one needed to complete the collection,but Elnora might want it,so Mrs. Comstock held on. Then the Almighty was kind,or nature was sufficient,as you look at it,for following the law of its being when disturbed,the moth again threw the spray by which some suppose it attracts its kind,and liberally sprinkled Mrs. Comstock's dress front and arms. From that instant,she became the best moth bait ever invented. Every Polyphemus in range hastened to her,and other fluttering creatures of night followed. The influx came her way. She snatched wildly here and there until she had one in each hand and no place to put them. She could see more coming,and her aching heart,swollen with the strain of long excitement,hurt pitifully.She prayed in broken exclamations that did not always sound reverent,but never was a human soul more intense earnest.
— Gene Stratton-Porter, A Girl of the Limberlost
Occasionally I looked up towards some vast old apartment with its shutters still open and where amphibious men and women, adapting themselves each evening to living in an element different from their daytime one, swam about slowly in the dense liquid which at nightfall rises incessantly from the wells of lamps and fills the rooms to the brink of their walls of stone and glass, and as they moved about in it, their bodies sent forth unctuous golden ripples.
— Marcel Proust, The Guermantes Way
He stood between death and life as between night and morning, and thought with a soaring rapture, 'I am not afraid.
— Mary Renault, Fire from Heaven
Although we are necessarily concerned, in a chronicle of events, with physical action by the light of day, history suggests that the human spirit wanders farthest in the silent hours between midnight and dawn. Those dark fruitful hours, seldom recorded, whose secret flowerings breed peace and war, loves and hates, the crowning or uncrowning of heads.
— Joan Lindsay, Picnic at Hanging Rock
...before the dawn I leave the night behind meand before my heart I let you leave me behind.- from the poem 'Behind
— Munia Khan
The summer night was settling upon the neighborhood like a dark lace veil, casting dappled shadows on the roofs and sidewalks and lawns.
— Victoria Kahler, Luisa Across the Bay
Above us, the constellations spun and the moon paced her weary course. We lay stricken and sleepless as the hours passed.
— Madeline Miller
When he appeared before the lord, his lordship was smitten immediately with the boy's unadorned beauty, like a first glimpse of the moon rising above a distant mountain. The boy's hair gleamed like the feathers of a raven perched silently on a tree, and his eyes were lovely as lotus flowers. One by one his other qualities became apparent, from his nightingale voice to his gentle disposition, as obedient and true as a plum blossom.
— Saikaku Ihara, The Great Mirror of Male Love