“Sanki gece yazarlar için yaratılmış ve sanki onun sessizliği ilhamın bizzat kendisi!”
“As if the night has been created for the writers and as if the silence of it is the very inspiration itself!”
“I do dream every night but in the morning I regret.”
“Tick Tock, The sun fell down; Ding Dong the moon took a peek, Ring Ding, It s Harmonizing my Insanity”
“If you don t believe in yourself, who will? ~Maybeck”
“I ve never really understood why people sleep. Wasting a third of your life and becoming vulnerable for almost 8 hours every night. Doesn t seem very appealing to me.”
“I ve always felt that distant train whistles heard in the dead of night are the universe s way of letting us know the best days are neither ahead nor behind us...they re happening right now, cradled in the palms of our hands. But that doesn t change the fact that the whiskey, weed, and romance eventually runs out and the night will soon turn to day.”
“In tragedy and despair, when an endless night seems to have fallen, hope can be found in the realization taht the companion of night is not another night, that the companion of night is day, that darkness always gives way to light, and that death rules only half of creation, life the other half.”
“This day I ceased to plead. I was no longer capable of lamentation. On the contrary, I felt very strong. I was the accuser, God the accused.”
“Rather nice night, after all. Stars are out and everything. Exceptionally tasty assortment of them.”
“However impatient she might be in the day, however filled with little sudden angers, at night she was all tenderness.”
“I won t let that night ruin you forever. But it did, it broke me into a million pieces and blew them away in the wind, like crumbled leaves.”
“Women can go mad with insomnia. The sleep-deprived roam houses that have lost their familiarity. With tea mugs in hand, we wander rooms, looking on shelves for something we will recognize: a book title, a photograph, the teak-carved bird -- a souvenir from what place? A memory almost rises when our eyes rest on a painting s grey sweep of cloud, or the curve of a wooden leg in a corner. Fingertips faintly recall the raised pattern on a chair cushion, but we wonder how these things have come to be here, in this stranger s home. Lost women drift in places where time has collapsed. We look into our thoughts and hearts for what has been forgotten, for what has gone missing. What did we once care about? Whom did we love? We are emptied. We are remote. Like night lilies, we open in the dark, breathe in the shadowy world. Our soliloquies are heard by no one.”
“It s true though: time moves in its own special way in the middle of the night, the bartender says, loudly striking a book match and lighting a cigarette. You can t fight it.”
“We should live, my Lesbia, and love And value all the talk of stricter Old men at a single penny. Suns can set and rise again; For us, once our brief light has set, There s one unending night for sleeping. Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, Then another thousand, then a second hundred, Then still another thousand, then a hundred; Then, when we ve made many thousands, We ll muddle them so as not to know Or lest some villain overlook us Knowing the total of our kisses. (Translated by Guy Lee)”
“Night is a world lit by itself”
“You know you love him when you can t sleep at night and get up early to talk to him the next morning.”