Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.
—Antoine de Saint-Exupery (1900–44) French Novelist, Aviator
Night is the blotting paper for many sorrows.
—Indian Proverb
However long the night, the dawn will break.
—African Proverb
How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm! I thank thee, night! for thou hast chased away these horrid bodements which, amidst the throng, I could not dissipate: and with the blessing of thy benign and quiet influence now will I to my couch, although to rest is almost wronging such a night as this.
—Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron) (1788–1824) English Romantic Poet
Earth, turning from the sun, brings night to man.
—Edward Young (1683–1765) English Poet
These blessed candles of the night.
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616) British Playwright
Shadow owes its birth to light.
—John Gay (1685–1732) English Poet, Dramatist
The contemplation of night should lead to elevating rather than to depressing ideas. Who can fix his mind on transitory and earthly things, in presence of those glittering myriads of worlds; and who can dread death or solitude in the midst of this brilliant, animated universe, composed of countless suns and worlds, all full of light and life and motion?
—Jean Paul (1763–1825) German Novelist, Humorist
In her starry shade of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn the language of another world.
—Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron) (1788–1824) English Romantic Poet
I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.
—Vincent van Gogh (1853–90) Dutch Painter
Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.
—William C. Dement (1928–2020) American Sleep Researcher
Night, the mother of fear and mystery, was coming upon me.
—H. G. Wells (1866–1946) English Novelist, Historian, Social Thinker
The night is made for tenderness so still that the low whisper, scarcely audible, is heard like music, and so deeply pure that the fond thought is chastened as it springs and on the lip is made holy.
—Nathaniel Parker Willis (1806–67) American Poet, Playwright, Essayist
Quiet night, that brings rest to the laborer, is the outlaw’s day, in which he rises early to do wrong, and when his work is ended, dares not sleep.
—Philip Massinger (1583–1640) English Playwright
O comfort-killing night, image of hell, dim register and notary of shame, black stage for tragedies and murders fell, vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616) British Playwright
Never greet a stranger in the night, for he may be a demon.
—The Talmud Sacred Text of the Jewish Faith
Night’s deepest gloom is but a calm; that soothes the weary mind: The labored days restoring balm; the comfort of mankind.
—Leigh Hunt (1784–1859) British Poet, Essayist, Journalist
Under thy mantle black, there hidden lie, light-shunning theft, and traitorous intent, abhorred bloodshed, and vile felony, shameful deceit, and danger imminent, foul horror, and eke hellish dreriment.
—Edmund Spenser (1552–99) English Poet
How beautiful is night!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven.
—Robert South (1634–1716) English Theologian, Preacher
This sacred shade and solitude, what is it?—It is the felt presence of the Deity.—Few are the faults we flatter when alone; vice sinks in her allurements, in ungilt, and looks, like other objects, black by night.—By night an atheist half believes a God.
—Edward Young (1683–1765) English Poet
Darkness has divinity for me; it strikes thought inward; it drives back the soul to settle on herself, our point supreme! There lies our theater; there sits our judge. Darkness the curtain drops o’er life’s dull scene; ’tis the kind hand of Providence stretched out ‘twixt man and vanity: ’tis reason’s reign, and virtue’s too; these tutelary shades are man’s asylum from the tainted throng. Night is the good man’s friend, and guardian too; it no less rescues virtue, than inspires.
—Edward Young (1683–1765) English Poet
How absolute, and omnipotent is the silence of the night! And yet the stillness seems almost audible.—From all the measureless depths of air around us, comes a half sound, a half whisper, as if we could hear the crumbling and falling away of earth and all created things in the great miracle of nature, decay and reproduction ever beginning, never ending—the gradual lapse and running of the sand in the great hour glass of time.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–82) American Poet, Educator, Academic
Blemishes are hid by night and every fault forgiven; darkness makes any woman fair.
—Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso) (c.43 BCE–c.18 CE) Roman Poet
Press close bare-bosomed night—press close magnetic nourishing night! Night of south winds! night of the large few stars! Still nodding night! mad naked summer night.
—Walt Whitman (1819–92) American Poet, Essayist, Journalist, American, Poet, Essayist, Journalist
You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.
—Saul Bellow (1915–2005) Canadian-American Novelist
For the happiest life, rigorously plan your days, leave your nights open to chance.
—Mignon McLaughlin (1913–83) American Journalist, Author
Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but in the open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews and perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the face of Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to people choked between walls and curtains, is only a light and living slumber to the man who sleeps afield.
—Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–94) Scottish Novelist
Night brings our troubles to the light, rather than banishes them.
—Seneca the Younger (Lucius Annaeus Seneca) (c.4 BCE–65 CE) Roman Stoic Philosopher, Statesman, Tragedian
Night is the other half of life, and the better half.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) German Poet
The day is done, and darkness falls from the wings of night.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–82) American Poet, Educator, Academic