Evening Quotes - Page 31

• One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.

  Arthur Rimbaud

  Funny, Beauty, Humor

  Arthur Rimbaud (1962). “Rimbaud”

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• Because God is full of life, I imagine each morning Almighty God says to the sun, "Do it again"; and every evening to the moon and the stars, "Do it again"; and every springtime to the daisies, "Do it again"; and every time a child is born into the world asking for curtain call, that the heart of the God might once more ring out in the heart of the babe.

  Fulton J. Sheen

  Morning, Stars, Children

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• On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening

  Matsuo Basho

  Autumn, Crow, Branches

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• So much there is to see, but our morning eyes describe a different world than do our afternoon eyes, and surely our wearied evening eyes can report only a weary evening world.

  John Steinbeck

  Morning, Eye, Different

  John Steinbeck (1980). “Travels with Charley in Search of America”, p.47, Penguin

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• You mind your tongue!” “Oh, I do,” I said. “I sharpen it every evening on your name.

  Franny Billingsley

  Names, Mind, Tongue

  Franny Billingsley (2013). “Chime”, p.233, A&C Black

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• I had a recent delivery of new fashion plates from Paris, and you hardly glanced at the hairstyles. My husband tells me you are still having difficulty controlling the change. And your cravat has been tied very simply of late, even for evening events.

  Gail Carriger

  Fashion, Husband, Paris

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• No 'Good evening, Jean-Claude, how are you doing?' Just down to business. How terribly rude,ma petite ." - Jean-Claude

  Laurell K. Hamilton

  Rude, Good Evening, Petite

  Laurell K. Hamilton (2002). “Bloody Bones: An Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Novel”, p.133, Penguin

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• On Monday they went out for a private picnic. On Tuesday they went for a carriage drive. On Wednesday they went to pick bluebells. On Thursday they fished at the lake, returning with damp clothes and sun-glazed complexions, laughing together at a joke they didn't share with anyone else. On Friday they danced together at an impromptu musical evening, looking so well matched one of the guests remarked it was a pleasure to watch them. On Saturday Matthew woke up wanting to murder someone.

  Lisa Kleypas

  Friday, Monday, Clothes

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• She was the breeze on a summer's day, the first drops of rain when the earth was parched, light from the evening star.

  Kate Morton

  Summer, Stars, Rain

  Kate Morton (2011). “The Distant Hours: A Novel”, p.422, Simon and Schuster

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• She had died peacefully, in her sleep, after an evening of listening to all of her favorite Fred Astaire songs, one crackling record after another. Once the last chord of the last piece had died out, she had stood up and opened the French doors to the garden outside, perhaps waiting to breathe in the honeysuckle one more time.

  Anne Fortier

  Song, Sleep, Garden

  Anne Fortier (2010). “Juliet: A Novel”, p.7, Ballantine Books

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• A ghost who, on the same evening, carries off an opera-singer and steals twenty-thousand francs is a ghost who must have his hands very full!

  Gaston Leroux

  Hands, Twenties, Opera

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• An apocryphal story - the word "apocryphal" here means "obviously untrue" - tells of two people, long ago, who were very bored, and that instead of complaining about it they sat up all night and invented the game of chess so that everyone else in the world, on evenings when there is nothing to do, can also be bored by the perplexing and tedious game they invented.

  Daniel Handler

  Mean, Night, Long Ago

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• I say 'Mom, how come you don't change into an evening gown for dinner?' She says 'I do, it's called a bath robe. [...]

  Lauren Child

  Mom, Gowns, Dinner

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• But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun.; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic monotony that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never gotten tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

  Gilbert K. Chesterton

  Strong, Morning, Father

  "Orthodoxy". Book by G. K. Chesterton (chapter IV), 1908.

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• On the blue summer evenings, I will go along the paths, And walk over the short grass, as I am pricked by the wheat: Daydreaming I will feel the coolness on my feet. I will let the wind bathe my bare head. I will not speak, I will have no thoughts: But infinite love will mount in my soul; And I will go far, far off, like a gypsy, through the countryside - as happy as if I were a woman. "Sensation

  Arthur Rimbaud

  Summer, Blue, Wind

  Arthur Rimbaud, “Sensation”

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• You will remember this when all else fades, this moment, here, together, by this well. There will be certain days, and certain nights, you’ll feel my presence near you, hear my voice. You’ll think you have imagined it and yet, inside you, you will catch an answering cry. On April evenings, when the rain has ceased, your heart will shake, you’ll weep for nothing, pine for what’s not there. For you, this life will never be enough, there will forever be an emptiness, where once the god was all in all in you.

  John Banville

  Rain, Heart, Night

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• Elections only happen in two ways," Reyna said. "Either the legion raises someone on a shield after a major success on the battlefield-and we haven't had any major battles-or we hold a ballot on the evening of June 24, at the Feast of Fortuna. That's in five days." Percy frowned. "You have a feast for tuna?

  Rick Riordan

  June, Two, Battle

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• You asked me where I generally lived. In my workshop [i.e. in his study] in the mornings and always in the library in the evening. Books are companions even if you don’t open them.

  Benjamin Disraeli

  Morning, Book, Library

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• Draw your chair up, and hand me my violin, for the only problem which we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.

  Arthur Conan Doyle

  Hands, Violin, Problem

  Arthur Conan Doyle (2016). “Sherlock Holmes. The best stories”, p.433, "Издательство ""Проспект"""

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• How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark Autumn evenings come, And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life’s November too! I shall be found by the fire, suppose, O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age, While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose!

  Robert Browning

  Wise, Book, Mean

  'By the Fireside' (1855) st. 2

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• WAKING AT NIGHT The blue river is grey at morning and evening. There is twilight at dawn and dusk. I lie in the dark wondering if this quiet in me now is a beginning or an end.

  Jack Gilbert

  Morning, Lying, Twilight

  Jack Gilbert (2012). “Collected Poems”, p.354, Knopf

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• There was a place in the Hills, on the first ridge in the Game Reserve, that I myself at the time when I thought that I was to live and die in Africa, had pointed out to Denys as my future burial-place. In the evening, while we sat and looked at the hills from my house, he remarked that then he would like to be buried there himself as well. Since then, sometimes when we drove out in the hills, Denys had said: "Let us drive as far as our graves.

  Isak Dinesen

  Games, House, Firsts

  Isak Dinesen (1987). “Out of Africa”, Crown Pub

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• Well, well,” he said. “Five days a week isn’t enough of me? Had to give me an evening, too?

  Becca Fitzpatrick

  Giving, Week, Enough

  Becca Fitzpatrick (2012). “Hush, Hush”, p.75, Simon and Schuster

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• You have the greatest soul, the noblest nature, the sweetest, most loving heart I have ever known, and my love, my reverence, my admiration for you, you have increased in one evening as I should have thought only a lifetime of intimate, loving association could have increased them. You are more wonderful and lovely in my eyes than you ever were before; and my pride and joy and gratitude that you should love me with such a perfect love are beyond all expression, except in some great poem which I cannot write.

  Woodrow Wilson

  Gratitude, Writing, Heart

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• I think of you often. Especially in the evenings, when I am on the balcony and it’s too dark to write or to do anything but wait for the stars. A time I love. One feels half disembodied, sitting like a shadow at the door of one’s being while the dark tide rises. Then comes the moon, marvellously serene, and small stars, very merry for some reason of their own. It is so easy to forget, in a worldly life, to attend to these miracles.

  Katherine Mansfield

  Stars, Writing, Dark

  Katherine Mansfield (1974). “The Letters of Katherine Mansfield”

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