I dreamed of you every night. It felt so real. And when I'd wake up the next morning, it was like your disappearance was fresh. Like you'd left me all over again.
You see, I’ve heard of a man whose friend had been imprisoned and who slept on the floor of his room every night in order not to enjoy a comfort of which his friend had been deprived.
You weren't picky about who got hurt. Still aren't. So don't preach at us like you're some kind of saint. You're just another sinner.
So, I guess you're there at your new place. Hope it's awesome. If it's not, you'll make it awesome, because that's what you do. It's your superpower.
I'm good. And it's good to see you've kept up the tradition of getting the holy shit beat out of you,even when you're in a nice, civilized place.
Look at the stars,” said Tim. “Don’t you ever wonder what they’re for?” The Night was an open book of constellations. “They’re for the same as everything else, “said Sam. They’re just for themselves.” The stars silently agreed.
You used to get it in your fishnets Now you only get it in your nightdress Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness... ...Remeber when the boys were all electric?
My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— It gives a lovely light!
Anything is possible on a train: a great meal, a binge, a visit from card players, an intrigue, a good night's sleep, and strangers' monologues framed like Russian short stories.
Could you visit me in dreams? That would cheer me. Sweet to see friends in the night, however short the time.
His eyes were twin flakes of ember floating into the night from a roaring inferno. “I won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what I have to do, I will keep you safe.
I’d known cruelty in a school—cruelty that would keep these amateurs up all night. But this kind of scene—crowds batting around a person because they thought he was weak—happened to be my personal trigger.
I snap and storm around and then spend long nights thinking of the most damaged adults I know and wondering if my particular brand of maternal fuckups are how they ended up like that.
No permanence is ours; we are a wave That flows to fit whatever form it finds: Through night or day, cathedral or the cave We pass forever, craving form that binds.
Neither of us had anything to say, or rather we had everything to say, but after all those nights of not saying a word, we suddenly found we had not one dollar of time left between us.
If I showed you what was in my heart," she said, "it would burn you to a cinder. "I've tried to burn you similarly," it said, "but you never even noticed when I opened my chest.
I wrote so meagerly to you. But what I couldn't write swelled and swelled like an old-fashioned airship and drifted away at last through the night sky.
On a pitch black, starless night, a solitary man was trudging along the main road from Marchiennes to Montsou, ten kilometres of cobblestones running straight as a die across the bare plain between fields of beet.
The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained in sudden flight but, they while their companions slept, they were toiling upwards in the night.
Love may not be enough to wake a child in the morning, dress him, and get him to school, then to feed him at night, bathe him, and put him to bed. Still, can any of us imagine a childhood without it?
-Bumblebee bat, how do you see at night? -I make a squeaky sound that bounces back from whatever it hits. I see by hearing.
