Midnight Quotes - Page 7

• A sentence starts out like a lone traveler heading into a blizzard at midnight, tilting into the wind, one arm shielding his face, the tails of his thin coat flapping behind him.

  Billy Collins

  Wind, Tails, Coats

  Billy Collins (2011). “Sailing Alone Around the Room: New and Selected Poems”, p.9, Random House

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• But first, on earth as vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent, Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race. There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life, Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse. Thy victims ere they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.

  Lord Byron

  Daughter, Flower, Blood

  Lord Byron (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Lord Byron (Illustrated)”, p.768, Delphi Classics

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• Come on, it's almost midnight. Let's go watch them cut the cake.

  Scott Westerfeld

  Cutting, Cake, Watches

  Scott Westerfeld (2007). “Extras”, p.417, Simon and Schuster

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• I hate this shallow Americanism which hopes to get rich by credit, to get knowledge by raps on midnight tables, to learn the economy of the mind by phrenology, or skill without study, or mastery without apprenticeship.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Hope, Hate, Rap

  Ralph Waldo Emerson (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson (Illustrated)”, p.2514, Delphi Classics

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• I am Midnight (cats stare dumbfounded)

  Erin Hunter

  Cat, Staring

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• A spider brings good luck before midnight and bad luck after.

  Joanne Harris

  Good Luck, Spiders, Bad Luck

  Joanne Harris (2000). “Chocolat”, p.35, Penguin

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• When we die, these are the stories still on our lips. The stories we’ll only tell strangers, someplace private in the padded cell of midnight. These important stories, we rehearse them for years in our head but never tell. These stories are ghosts, bringing people back from the dead. Just for a moment. For a visit. Every story is a ghost.

  Chuck Palahniuk

  Cells, Years, People

  Chuck Palahniuk (2011). “Haunted”, p.342, Random House

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• As we passed under a streetlamp I noticed, beside my own bobbing shadow, another great, leaping grotesquerie that had an uncanny suggestion of the frog world about it . . . judging from the shadow, it was soaring higher and more gaily than myself. 'Very well,' you will say, 'Why didn’t you turn around. That would be the scientific thing to do.' But let me tell you it is not done ― not on an empty road at midnight.

  Loren Eiseley

  Judging, Shadow, World

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• But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as a man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called -- called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come.

  Jack London

  Summer, Running, Book

  Jack London (1992). “The Call of the Wild and White Fang”, p.58, Wordsworth Editions

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• A too closely watched flower/blossoms the wrong color./Excess attention to the jonquil/turns it gentian. Flowers/need it tranquil to get/their hues right. Some/only open at midnight.

  Kay Ryan

  Flower, Color, Needs

  Kay Ryan (2007). “Say Uncle: Poems”, p.57, Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

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• Jake La Botz is a creator of dark poetry and haunting song, the kind of music that gets in your bones and rides you for days, a sound and vision only those who've been to the bottom and clawed their way back up can generate. His midnight gifts evoke Hank Williams and Skip James as much as Tom Waits and Dylan. Not everybody will get this music - because not everybody is ready for the truth.

  Jerry Stahl

  Song, Dark, Waiting

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• I struggled to find the words to name the feelings that flooded through me, but I had no words strong enough to hold them. For a long moment, I drowned in them. When I surfaced, I was not the same man I had been. My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?

  Stephenie Meyer

  Strong, Men, Names

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• To Cam surprise, she was smiling up at him steadily, her eyes midnight. His expression turned quizzical. "What's so amus­ing?" Amelia toyed with a button on his coat. "I was just thinking . . . tonight those two old hens will probably go to their beds, cold and alone." An impish grin curved her lips. "Whereas I will be with a wicked, handsome Rom who will keep me warm all night.

  Lisa Kleypas

  Eye, Night, Thinking

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• I am a child of the poisonous wind that copulated with the East River on an oil-slick, garbage infested midnight. I turn about on my own parentage. I inoculate against those very biles that brought me to light. I am a serum born of venoms. I am the antibody of all Time. I am the Cure. You do of the City, do you not? Manhattan is your punisher, let me be you shield.

  Ray Bradbury

  Children, Light, Wind

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• Female, I give you fair warning: you are playing with fire" - Tegan to Elise (Midnight Awakening

  Tina St. John

  Fire, Giving, Female

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• There is a solitude, which each and every one of us has always carried with him, more inaccessible than the ice-cold mountains, more profound than the midnight sea; the solitude of self. Our inner being, which we call ourself, no eye nor touch of man or angel has ever pierced.

  Elizabeth Cady Stanton

  Angel, Eye, Men

  Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Ann Dexter Gordon (2006). “The Selected Papers of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony: When clowns make laws for queens, 1880-1887”, p.85, Rutgers University Press

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• That night as I lay in bed, I thought of several things I could have said and mourned the fact that my wit usually bloomed late, peaking when it no longer mattered, during the solitary hours close to midnight.

  Siri Hustvedt

  Regret, Night, Bed

  Siri Hustvedt (2017). “The Blindfold”, p.34, Simon and Schuster

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• I wander thro' each charter'd street, Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear. How the Chimney-sweeper's cry Every black'ning Church appalls; And the hapless Soldier's sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls. But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlot's curse Blasts the new born Infant's tear, And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

  William Blake

  Running, Wall, Men

  William Blake (2010). “Poems: Introduction by Patti Smith”, p.144, Random House

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• That's what got me into exercise and training my body and my voice. I looked at Madonna as this G.I. Jane superstar. I used to go jogging around my neighborhood at midnight sometimes and I'd be thinking, it'll all be worth it one day.

  Darren Hayes

  Exercise, Thinking, Voice

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• No matter our talent, we all know in the midnight of our souls that 90 percent of what we do is less than our best.

  Robert McKee

  Soul, Matter, Talent

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• She boasted the general battle-ax demeanor of an especially strict governess. This was the kind of woman who took her tea black, smoked cigars after midnight, played a mean game of cribbage, and kept a bevy of repulsive little dogs. Alexia liked her immediately.

  Gail Carriger

  Dog, Mean, Games

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• ..."I ran out of stock around midnight and dropped by a place, got some Chinese." I hoped he meant takeout.

  Karen Chance

  Chinese, Ran

  Karen Chance (2008). “Midnight's Daughter”, p.159, Penguin

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• My love has eyes blue as the sky. Her warm, bright smile makes me want to try To give her the world, And when she's curled Up in my arms where I can feel her touch, I realize again that I love her so much. My world has turned from black to white. Kissing in starlight, basking in sunlight, dancing at midnight.' ~John's poem for Belle

  Julia Quinn

  Eye, Kissing, Blue

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• ...It’s not the lies that hurt people. It’s the willingness of everyone else to believe them..." Aiden, Upon the Midnight Clear by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Hurt, Lying, Believe

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• And if it happened to be a Christmas-night when the great bell seemed to rattle in its throat as it called the faithful to the midnight mass, there was such an indescribable air of life spread over the sombre facade that the great door-way looked as if it were swallowing the entire crowd, and the rose-window staring at them.

  Victor Hugo

  Christmas, Night, Air

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