#night

I love the silent hour of night, for blissful dreams may then arise, revealing to my charmed sight what may not bless my waking eyes. ↗

— Anne Brontë

#night #dreams

Ma pean vähemalt öösel saama mina ise olla. ↗

— Kati Murutar

#myself #night #life

Through the night we drove in a tangle of waking and sleeping, nightmares from hell and holy white dreams. ↗

— Glenda Millard

#drove #hell #holy #night #nightmares

As it was, he surfed his way towards daylight on a couch infested with cigarette burns and drunken dreams. ↗

— John Zunski

#dreams

The bleak autumn wind was still blowing, and the solemn, surging moan of it in the wood was dreary and awful to hear through the night silence. Issac felt strangely wakeful. He resolved, as he lay down in bed, to keep the candle alight until he began to grow sleepy; for there was something unendurably depressing in the bare idea of lying awake in the darkness, listening to the dismal, ceaseless moan of the wind in the wood. ("The Dream Woman") ↗

— Wilkie Collins

#night #wind #dreams

When daylight is here i dream of the night, The stars of a country sky that shine so bright. A night sky without clouds, for the moon to hide under, Revealing every twinkle and every beam, of the Milky Way's wonder. I grow sad in the morning, And i pay the day no mind. Every time i see the light coming, I know the sunset's not far behind. ↗

— J.M. Pierce

#poem #dreams

The thing, whatever it was - and no one was ever sure afterwards whether it was a dream or a fit or what - happened at that peculiar hour before dawn when human vitality is at its lowest ebb. The Blue Hour they sometimes call it, l'heure bleue - the ribbon of darkness between the false dawn and the true, always blacker than all the rest of the night has been before it. Criminals break down and confess at that hour; suicides nerve themselves for their attempts; mists swirl in the sky; and - according to the old books of the monks and the hermits - strange, unholy shapes brood over the sleeping rooftops. At any rate, it was at this hour that her screams shattered the stillness of that top-floor apartment overlooking the Pare Monceau. Curdling, razor-edged screams that slashed through the thick bedroom door. ("I'm Dangerous Tonight") ↗

— Cornell Woolrich

#fear #horror #l-heure-bleue #night #the-blue-hour

Maldonado's face was ghastly. 'That' she said, pointing below the bed where the cat lurked, 'and that' - pointing to what lay on the floor - 'prove it was no dream. Do dreams leave marks behind them?' ("I'm Dangerous Tonight") ↗

— Cornell Woolrich

#nightmare #nightmares #dreams

We were happy. I know I ought to be able to tell you about it, yet I cannot, for while a nightmare will stay with you like hunger, when you awake from a happy dream, you have no memory of it. ↗

— Erik Christian Haugaard

#happiness #nightmare #dreams

At the end of the day, when the sun falls a willing prisoner of the night...and humans, males and females alike, become submitted to the mistress of the dark, my mind begins to wander and wonder. Looking upwards at a blank slate of concrete, the psyque expresses freely what my subconscious is afraid to give free rein. And there and then, between the play of reality and dreamland, I find my place. I find myself. ↗

— Eiry Nieves

#night #psyche #subconscious #submission #dreams