Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind/Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,/Now slip, now slide, now move unseen,/Above, beneath, betwixt, between.
The night was as dark by this time as it would be until morning; and what light we had, seemed to come from the river than the sky, as the oars in their dipping struck at a few reflected stars.
She comforted him in his darkness and gave him hope. She seemed to cherish a sincere affection for him, despite his failings. 'She saved me'.
He carries stars in his pockets because he knows she fears the dark. Whenever sadness pays her a visit he paints galaxies on the back of her hands.
Why should we remain innocent of what lurks in the shadows? How can we live in the world if we don't understand how dark and brutal it can be?
Whatever you do well in the darkness tells more about who you are than what you do best in light. Watch out!
All order, I've come to understand, is theoretical, unreal — a harmless, sensible, smiling mask men slide between the two great, dark realities, the self and the world — two snake pits.
A strong wind sang sadly as it bent the trees in front of the Hall. A half moon shone through the dark, flying clouds on to the wild and empty moor.
Her dark eyes slid to him. "I can't remember the last time I felt so good in clothes." And he wanted to get her out of them.
A song and a smile from someone I cared about could be enough to distract me from all that darkness, if only for a little while.
People have always been good at imagining the end of the world, which is much easier to picture than the strange sidelong paths of change in a world without end.
He was there below me, and, upon my word, to look at him was as edifying as seeing a dog in a parody of breeches and a featherhat, walking on his hind legs.
I remembered the old doctor, - "It would be interesting for science to watch the mental changes of individuals, on the spot." I felt I was becoming scientifically interesting.
You guys are so... dark. Even if I used flash, I'm not sure it would come out." "Y-yeah," Percy managed. "You guys aren't photogenic.
My dark secret is I’ve always wished I was Gatsby. As heartbroken as he was and as horrible a fate as he endured, I admired that he loved. It’s a difficult thing to do.
The future was something I had resolutely ignored. If didn't put my full attention to the day at hand, I was afraid that the impenetrable dark on the horizon would engulf me
If I die," he whispered in the dark, "dinna follow me. The bairns will need ye. Stay for them. I can wait.
Choosing to be an artist . . . is choosing to mine deep caverns. It's like getting lost in the darkness and spending the rest of your life trying to find your way.
Seventeen moons, seventeen years, Eyes where Dark or Light appears, Gold for yes and green for no, Seventeen the last to know.
He knew, perhaps better than anyone, that we don't get to choose what is true. We only get to choose what we do about it.
What's the problem?" "You. All shirtless and stuff. My dragon won't let me fight you." Oh, God. It was so embarrassing even admitting it.
