It was a blustery winter night, back in the summer of 2009. That’s when we met, and that’s when I knew it was love, two years before.
My vacation wasn’t long enough—and neither was my penis. Two weeks is just too short to satisfy one woman all night long.
Last night I read two books back to back. Tonight I’ll probably read both of those books’ front covers.
You gotta run more than your mouth to escape the treadmill of mediocrity. A true hustler jogs during the day, and sleepwalks at night.
Winter was gray and mean upon the city and every night was a package of cold bleak hours, like the hours in a cell that had no door.
For the celebration I got champagne flutes, even though I’m not musical. That night I felt like Mozart. He was a drunk, right?
I went out to eat on a restaurant’s opening night. It was packed! I guess people heard I’d be dining there and came to adore me.
I stayed up all night making love—to myself. That reminds me, I need to buy some more Jell-O and political biographies.
When I’m asleep I’m a politician, and when I’m awake I’m a criminal. Throughout the day and night, my mentality never changes.
As the saturating colors of sun-life fade from sight, the ominous moon reaches out its long arm and applies the dark dyes of night.
Drugs age you after mental excitement. Lethargy then. Why? Reaction. A lifetime in a night. Gradually changes your character.
Because a quiet night is not the same as a silent one, a firm man is not the same as a steady one, and a bright light is not the same as a brilliant one.
Find my hand in the darkness, intertwined you will be the day to my night. We can share wings and take flight towards our own inner light.
You need to kiss me. All night you slept cuddled into me. You can’t do that to a man without at least kissing him.
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
They were perfectly suited. They would speak of books the livelong day and night and bore everyone else but themselves to distraction.
Nobody special had come around to replace Duane, and she was moping, going to bed alone every night with a box of Velveeta and a fork.
I've always liked the moonless night best. It's easier to say things in the dark. It's easier to be yourself.
There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.
But even then I knew how it was going to be, I could feel the coming silence in the long, poisonous pauses that expanded as the night progressed.
. . . finally, I couldn't imagine how I could live without books, and I stopped dreaming about marrying that Chinese prince. . . .
