Night Quotes
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I don't always see humor in things. Especially when I smash my pinky toe into a coffee table leg in the middle of the night. But sometimes I'll see things, or experience things, that make me go, "Huh, maybe that's a bit."
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Better to be king for a night than a schmuck for a lifetime.
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It is enough for me by day To walk the same bright earth with him; Enough that over us by night The same great roof of stars is dim. I do not hope to bind the wind Or set a fetter on the sea -- It is enough to feel his love Blow by like music over me.
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Writers tend to work early in the morning, or late at night, when brains are naturally able to focus deeply on one thought. In the middle of the day, distractions are unavoidable. I wonder if anything worthwhile has ever been written in the afternoon.
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The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.
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Man was born to die. What did it mean? Hanging around and waiting. Waiting for the ‘A train.’ Waiting for a pair of big breasts on some August night in a Vegas hotel room. Waiting for the mouse to sing. Waiting for the snake to grow wings. Hanging around.
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Calm on the listening ear of night Come Heaven's melodious strains, Where wild Judea stretches far Her silver-mantled plains.
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I don't really like to write at a desk. I like to write when driving in a car. ... Once you're working on it, you're working on it all the time, and sometimes stuff'll come in the middle of the night, in a dream or something. Your mind is working on it all the time.
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Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.
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The night was ordinary. It usually is, I think, when your life changes. Most people aren't doing anything special when the carefully placed pieces of their life break apart.
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So live, that when thy summons comes to join, The innumerable caravan which moves, To that mysterious realm where each shall take, His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged by his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed, By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch, About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
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I just saw the movie for the first time in its entirely last night. It's really cool when you're in with an audience that's so tuned in and plugged in to what's going on.
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Thanksgiving is the most complicated meal you can think of. Every night, dinner is just pasta. It's just different shapes of pasta.
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Each that we lose takes a part of us; A crescent still abides, Which like the moon, some turbid night, Is summoned by the tides.
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The night before, I'd gone overboard with my Lila poems, and maybe it's true that I was hoping that in them he'd see the genius of me, the beauty of my words in his hands.
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. . . she dreamed of nothing, for she hoped for nothing and expected nothing. It was as cold and dark inside her as out in the frosty night.
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You can't do four movies and be good to everybody and be flying all night and shooting all day with a different wig and then be going to sing on Broadway without feeling a little tired. You endlessly feel you're letting somebody down.
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I needed to get out and my roomies had both left me for the night so I followed the pretty one here.” Did Marcus just call me pretty?
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In a city like New York, especially for young professionals who aren't in a family situation, most people don't cook for themselves. This is the only city I've ever lived in where I eat out every night.
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The fans treated me with a lot of respect, and I played as hard as possible every night. I wanted to win. I'm going to always be a competitor.
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In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed-- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.
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The Spirit Awards are great too, they'll say anything because they're not televised. Another great drinking night.
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Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer.
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My selective memory of what drinking was like told me that standing at the bar in a pub, on a summer's evening with a long, tall glass of lager and lime was heaven, and I chose not to remember the nights on which I had sat with a bottle of vodka, a gram of coke and a shotgun, contemplating suicide.
