#night

Those heart-hammering nightmares that start to lose coherence even as you're waking up from them, but that still manage to leave their moldering fingerprints all across your day. ↗

— Mike Carey

#nightmares #dreams

The world rests in the night. Trees, mountains, fields, and faces are released from the prison of shape and the burden of exposure. Each thing creeps back into its own nature within the shelter of the dark. Darkness is the ancient womb. Nighttime is womb- time. Our souls come out to play. The darkness absolves everything; the struggle for identity and impression falls away. We rest in the night. ↗

— John O'Donohue

#nature

Batman: a force of chaos in my world of perfect order. The dark side of the Soviet dream. Rumored to be a thousand murdered dissidents, they said he was a ghost. A walking dead man. A symbol of rebellion that would never fade as long as the system survived. Anarchy in black. ↗

— Mark Millar

#batman #dark-knight #red-son #superman #dreams

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

I close my eyes, then I drift away, into the magic night I softly say. A silent prayer, like dreamers do, then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you. ↗

— Roy Orbison

#asleep #away #close #dream #dreamers

I had a dream about you last night. We started a shoe company, and a competitor (probably someone from Nike) attacked you, so I had to stab them in the throat with a shoelace. I guess it would have been better to use that shoelace to strangle them. 
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#competition #competitor #dream #dreams #night

Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn: It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond Stares. And you sing, you sing. That star-enchanted song falls through the air From lawn to lawn down terraces of sound, Darts in white arrows on the shadowed ground; And all the night you sing. My dreams are flowers to which you are a bee As all night long I listen, and my brain Receives your song, then loses it again In moonlight on the lawn. Now is your voice a marble high and white, Then like a mist on fields of paradise, Now is a raging fire, then is like ice, Then breaks, and it is dawn. ↗

— Harold Monro

#nightingales #song #dreams

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