My room was in one of those turrets and at night I could hear the sea and the faint rustle of eelgrass in the soft wind. The weather was perfect that summer. No storms. Blue skies and just the right amount of wind every day. The sailors were in heaven.
Every day be thankful for the nights that turn into mornings, friends that turn into family and dreams that turn into reality.
Every day of Ramadhan Allah beautifies Jannah and says: "Soon my righteous servants will finish their work and will rest in you." On the last night of Ramadan Allah forgives the sins of His servants.' They asked: 'Is the last night Lailatul Qadr?' He said: 'No, but the worker is paid when he finishes his work.
How long the night to the watchman, How long the road to the weary traveller, How long the wandering of many lives To the fool who misses the way.
My family always comes first. My world revolves around my husband, Peter, our daughter, Victoria, and our son, William, but not necessarily in that order. Then, it's this fascinating world of publishing that devours most of my days and many nights.
Day and night will not cease. Yet, you need not continue viewing them as opposites. There is no longer a need to think that night has the same power as day. There is just the power of light, with variations of intensity and interruption. Once the full scope of understanding is attained, duality fades away. Higher intelligence is manifested through integrated perceptions of wholeness which restore your recognition of the one spirit. The sons of God are those who do not explain life or manage it with dualistic concepts. The sons of God are those who seek to perceive wholeness in all things.
The small man builds cages for everyone he knows While the sage, who has to duck his head when the moon is low, Keeps dropping keys all night long For the beautiful rowdy prisoners.
But I think I see what these guys' problem is. You know... aside from the lack of a spine and the latent misogyny? As long as they continue to act like women are a separate species and, thus, not relate to us as HUMAN BEINGS, they'll continue to alienate the majority of us on sight or send those unfortunate souls who actually date them (Bleh!) screaming into the night.
Behind every footballing tough guy there lurks a mincing aesthete with a love of art for art's sake, football for football's sake. A win without art is somehow less than a victory; less, almost, than a beautiful defeat. In football, the romantic and the pragmatist are ever at war in the same breast. Beauty, it must be understood here, is not Barcelona's aim but their method. And last night they were ready to use this method at every opportunity - quick-fire passing of wit and purpose in the danger areas, seeking always to produce an unlooked-for player in a position of threat.
Most musicians I know don't just play music on Saturday night. They play music every day. They are always fiddling around, letting the notes lead them from one place to another. Taking still photographs is like that. It is a generative process. It pulls you along.
For the wretched one night is like a thousand; for someone faring well death is just one more night.
Who gave you the ability to contemplate the beauty of the skies, the course of the sun, the round moon, the millions of stars, the harmony and rhythm that issue from the world as from a lyre, the return of the seasons, the alternation of the months, the demarcation of day and night, the fruits of the earth, the vastness of the air, the ceaseless motion of the waves, the sound of the wind?
A person writing at night may put out the lamp, but the words he has written will remain. It is the same with the destiny we create for ourselves in this world.
Being with the right person is caring for another physically, mentally and spiritually. It is caring for anothers soul. As the relationship grows deeper over the years each kiss is still as new and exciting as the first, each embrace is a song of ever-deepening love, and each night becomes a celebration of unity and fulfilment.
Air racing may not be better than your wedding night, but it's better than the second night.
Sometimes I come here just to be a lost mariner but I am never lost: there are the snowflakes frozen to the porthole of a jewelry store, here is the treasure chest open to a single pearl laid on a velvet slab, there is the plashing of faces in the aisles and the row of lockers stuffed with the coats and hats of the drowned and it is night, and the moon rows over the gentle waters of the parking lot.
My biggest pet peeve are just girls who go to sports bars who have no intention on caring what teams are playing, like they're looking for just a night out. That drives me more crazy than anything else. Like, don't pretend to be a sports fan.
All night, my face next to your mouth, I hold my breath, listening to yours.
The term bohemian has a bad reputation because it's allied to myriad clichés, but Parisians originally adopted the term, associated with nomadic Gypsies, to describe artists and writers who stayed up all night and ignored the pressures of the industrial world.
Cynie Cory roams the outer reaches of the heart’s territory, from the snowy winter of family life to the tropical jungles of love. She wears her heart on her sleeve and it is as big as the country she writes about. Is she the quintessential American girl? You bet she is, part Annie Oakley, part Emily Dickinson—sharpshooting poet of wild nights. She zooms in on the detritus of love—the broken fragments, the fallen leaves—and puts together a collage that is as heartbreaking as it is beautiful. Watch out—she’s driving down your street.
When a friend of mine introduced me to the music of Luca C & Brigante I was stuck with an apocalyptic feeling, as if I were listening to the sound of a party at the end of the world. And with such strong imagery coming to mind I was only too happy to write with them when they asked. Flash of Light is about that last night on earth, a forewarning of the end of an era and a last chance to Love.
I have two iPhones, one for day and one for the night.
Here is something you have to understand about stories: They point you in the right direction but they can't take you all the way there. Stories are crescent moons; they glimmer in the night sky, but they are most exquisite in their incomplete state. Because people crave the beauty of not-knowing, the excitement of suggestion, and the sweet tragedy of mystery.
To wish for your own happiness is sometimes coupled with another's unhappiness. So then, what exactly should I pray for? Since I couldn't pray for my own happiness, I prayed to the moon in the night sky for the happiness of the one whose warm hand I held.
Every time we think about being happy again, it hurts to be alive. Because it seems an inordinate thing for us to wish for. And because we think that day will never come for us. And that's why the only thing we can do for now... ...is just try to get through each night.
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