A woman over 30 will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, "What are you thinking?". She doesn't care what you think.
Anyone who's a parent dreads that call in the middle of the night. I have four grown children and I still dread it.
Look, Here are we On this starry night staring into space. And I must say I feel as small as dust Lying down here. What point could there be troubling? Head down wondering what will Become of me, Why concern we cannot see But no reason to abandon it. Time is short but that's all right, Maybe I'll go in the middle of the night. Take your hands from your eyes, my love, Everything must end some time, Don't burn the day away.
I'd work eighteen-hour stretches and fall asleep in my clothes. Then I'd wake up in the middle of the night, brew a pot of tea, and start work again. I was tired, but work had become pure enjoyment.
It was surprising that you could spend hours in the middle of the night pretending things were OK, and know in thirty seconds of daylight that that simply wasn't so.
I wake up in the morning, or the middle of the night when an idea comes through. My songwriting style, basically I just write down information given to me from the muse and how that works for songwriters. Record the muse and the muse delivers.
What makes horror movies work is the idea that "oh my God, what would I do if I were in that situation? How would I get out of that alive? What would I do if I saw the door to my closet creaking open in the middle of the night and a doll on a tricycle comes riding out?"
I see things in the middle of the night. I draw them on paper and I don't even think about it. I'm like a machine in a way - just made of some electronic stuff. Vaguely digital.
I have always been really scared of scary movies just because I live by myself - and then seeing something, then having a big imagination and then like thinking you see it in the middle of the night. So I've never been really into them.
My girlfriend has the greatest story as to why she isn't religious anymore. When she was a kid, like 12 years old, her parents nailed a 25 pound crucifix to the wall right above her bed. About two weeks later, in the middle of the night, the crucifix falls off the wall and leaves a two inch gash in the back of her dad's head.
In my photographic work I was always especially entranced... by the moment when the shadows of reality, so to speak, emerge out of nothing on the exposed paper, as memories do in the middle of the night, darkening again if you try to cling to them.
The idea of social performance, that we're always performing identities, is something I got fairly obsessed with. I think it's probably because I am a person who went to 15 different elementary and middle schools. I moved all the time, often having to run out in the middle of the night because my mom couldn't pay the bills. There were schools where I'd be the poor loser kid. There were schools where I'd suddenly be the smart kid or the cool kid, although that was very seldom.
I woke up my pop in the middle of the night 'cause the boogie man's under my bed. My pop is this big, huge man, nothing can hurt him. I went running into his bedroom like, 'Daddy, Daddy, the boogie man's under the bed!' Pop opens one eye, he's like, 'Is the boogie man bigger than me?' 'Well, no Daddy, he's not.' 'Well, you got your choice: you can deal with the boogie man or you can deal with me.'
I was seized by the stern hand of Compulsion, that dark, unreasonable Urge that impels women to clean house in the middle of the night.
There's one in every family. When the police calls in the middle of the night and says "We've got a family members of yours under arrest" and you know directly who it is. In my family we have seven of those... And they are all my *Mom*!
This was what she needed… the quiet turning to the other in the middle of the night, the wordless meeting of lips, skin, breath. The trust, unfurling one pale petal at a time, that he would be there.
In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Edward's skin. I couldn't see his face, just his back as he walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to him; no matter how loud I called, he never turned. Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, he was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.
So let me get this straight," he said. "After everything that's happened on this campus-the murder, the stalking, the kidnapping-you want to go up into the woods-by yourself, in the middle of the night, based on something a ghost in a dream told you-and dig a hole?" Well when he put it that way.
Once, I asked my mom why stars shine. She said they were night-lights, so the angels could find their way around in Heaven. But when I asked my dad, he started talking about gas, and somehow I put it all together and figured that the food God served caused multiple trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Claire: Seriously? My mom? Let you in my room? In the middle of the night? Michael: Moms like me.
Ranger appeared in the bathroom doorway and I was too relieved to be embarrassed. "I appreciate you coming out in the middle of the night," I said. Ranger smiled. "I didn't want to miss seeing you chained up naked.
A short story I have written long ago would barge into my house in the middle of the night, shake me awake and shout, 'Hey,this is no time for sleeping! You can't forget me, there's still more to write!' Impelled by that voice, I would find myself writing a novel. In this sense, too, my short stories and novels connect inside me in a very natural, organic way.
Here I am, just wandering down a deserted street in the middle of the night. I hope I don't run into any trouble. Goodness, that would just ruin my whole evening." I strolled and hummed, trying to project Innocent Victim.
One fine day, in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other. They pulled out their swords and shot one another. One deaf cop, on the beat heard the noise, and came and shot the two dead boys.
When this crisis began, crucial decisions about what would happen to some of the world's biggest companies - companies employing tens of thousands of people and holding trillions of dollars in assets - took place in hurried discussions in the middle of the night. We should not be forced to choose between allowing a company to fall into a rapid and chaotic dissolution or forcing taxpayers to foot the bill.
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