Dark Quotes - Page 195

Come on back and we’ll see if you remember the simplest thing of all – how it is to be children, secure in belief and thus afraid of the dark.

The shining. It was a good name, a comforting name, because she had always thought of it as a dark thing.

The last good time always comes, and when you see the darkness creeping toward you, you hold on to what was bright and good. You hold on for dear life.

Our memories have voices, too. Often sad ones that clamor like raised arms in the dark.

Things come in three major degrees in the human experience, I think. There's good, bad, and terrible. And as you go down into progressive darkness towards terrible, it gets harder and harder to make subdivisions.

She did not know if her gift came from the lord of light or of darkness, and now, finally finding that she didn't care which, she wad overcome with almost indescribable relief, as if a huge weight, long carried, had slipped from her shoulders.

There's a Mr. Hyde for every happy Jekyll face, a dark face on the other side of the mirror.

It's how we see the world that keeps the darkness beyond at bay. Keeps it from pouring through and devouring us. I think all of us might know that, way down deep.

The idea for each of the stories in this book came in a moment of belief and was written in a burst of faith, happiness, and optimism. Those positive feelings have their dark analogues, however, and the fear of failure is a long way from the worst of them. The worst - for me, at least - is the gnawing speculation that I may have already said everything that I have to say, and am now only listening to the steady quacking of my own voice because the silence when it stops is just too spooky.

A short story is like a kiss in the dark.

The quickest way to learn about a new place is to know what it dreams of.

Dark impulses certainly exist in me and, I think, in most people.

The word is clear only to the kind who on peak or plain, from dark northern ice-fields to the hot wet jungles, through all wine and want, through lies and unfamiliar truth, dark or light, are governed by the unknown gods, and though each man knows the law, no man may give tongue to it.

When I was younger I feared the dark, wondering what evil was watching me. Now it's different, for now it's a game of sneaking the light back on and laughing at how quickly the evil fleas.

There is always something rough and tumble about planting - because with our clumsy implements we must reach from our atmospheric element down into another, down into the darkness of the soil.

My dark sound could be heard across a room clearer than somebody with a reedy sound. It had more projection. My sound always seemed to fill a room.

Trying to be really dark and alienating just felt exhausting to me, so I started going back to the music that I grew up with, whether it was African music or pop music. It took me away from being overly self-conscious about what I was doing.

It's a GIRL. It's a little girl, with scrunched-up petal lips and a tuft of dark hair and hands in tiny fits, up by her ears. All that time, that's who was in there. And it's weird, but the minute I saw her I just thought: IT'S YOU. Of course it is.

I respond, thoughts dropping away, like pebbles plopping one by one in water, sinking down, down into dark oblivion.

I work with a lot of production that's really positive and contains a lot of soul stuff. Those instrumentals project the happiness out of me. But, sometimes I get a darker beat, with some dark piano or something... and then I'll do darker tracks.

The Darkness at Irving. Hope to have as much fun doing anything ever as these guys have on stage.

Here, like everywhere else, laughing and singing, dancing and dreaming are not exactly the whole of reality; and for one ray of sun shining on the hut, the rest of the village remains in the dark.

My favourite writer is Beckett and I keep going back to wallow in his work like a deep pool of dark humour or like an oxygen tank when you can't breath in a world consumed by piety, hypocrisy and self-satisfaction.

EVERYONE suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on—on—and out of sight. Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away ... O, but Everyone Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.

It is only after we have integrated the dark side of the moon into our world view that we can begin to talk seriously of universal culture.