Everything’s an adventure at night when you’re where you shouldn’t be, even if you go during the daylight, but it was then only ordinary.

The unwelcome April rain had unwittingly stolen the days last hour on this side of paradise and pawned it with that ancient fence. The night.

No one but night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.

Some night are made for reflection or the savoring of loneliness.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime and falling in at night.

One by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.

If people sat outside and looked at the stars at night, I’ll bet they’d live differently.

I often think the night is alive and more richly colored than the day.

None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.