Night Quotes - Page 92

I never thought I'd be making a living off of acting - it's still kind of a shock for my family and friends to see my face on TV every Wednesday night.

What terrified me will terrify others; and I need only describe the spectre which had haunted my midnight pillow.

When you're dead, you're dead. That's it.

What breaks in daybreak? Is it the night? Is it the sun, cracked in two by the horizon like an egg, spilling out light?

Sometimes I see the world for how f-ked up it really is. I tell myself I'll be the one to make a change in it. I could die tonight; not make it to the sunrise, then I couldn't hear the pain in it.

I heard one cry in the night, and I heard one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget that, I shall not be able to sleep again.

Out of the night you burn, Manhattan, In a vesture of gold-- Spun of innumerable arcs, Flaring and multiplying-- Gold at the uttermost circles fading Into the tenderest hint of jade, Or fusing in tremulous twilight blues, Robing the far-flung offices, Scintillant-storied, forking flame, Or soaring to luminous amethyst Over the steeples aureoled.

I have been trying to think of the earth as a kind of organism, but it is no go. I cannot think of it this way. It is too big, too complex, with too many working parts lacking visible connections. The other night, driving through a hilly, wooded part of southern New England, I wondered about this. If not like an organism, what is it like, what is it most like? Then, satisfactorily for that moment, it came to me: it is most like a single cell

I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!

What do I miss about the UK? Sadly, almost nothing. Maybe the midnight sun, in June in the north. That's all.

A friend told me 'I guess you gotta go through a lot of nightmares, before you finally, you know, accomplish your dreams.

We survived a Slayer crowd every night for about 50 days and thought we could do about anything after that.

Introvert conversations are like jazz, where each player gets to solo for a nice stretch before the other player comes in and does his solo. And like jazz, once we get going, we can play all night. Extrovert conversations are more like tennis matches, where thoughts are batted back and forth, and players need to be ready to respond. Introverts get winded pretty quickly.

People say I'm America's worst nightmare. I say I'm the American dream.

Rest at pale evening... A tall slim tree... Night coming tenderly Black like me

Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.

Keg in the closet pizza on the floor left over from the night before, where we were going we didn't really care. We had all we ever wanted in that keg in the closet.

My love for you tonight is so deep and tender that it seems to be outside myself as well.

Trash can!” Pritkin cursed and grabbed one, just about the time everything I’d eaten that night paid a repeat visit. Whiskey, pizza, milk shake, beer-and a lone, half-dissolved gummy bear, which was a surprise, since I couldn’t actually recall having eaten any. Fun times.

That's one thing that's always, like, been a difference between, like, the performing arts, and being a painter, you know. A painter does a painting, and he paints it, and that's it, you know. He has the joy of creating it, it hangs on a wall, and somebody buys it, and maybe somebody buys it again, or maybe nobody buys it and it sits up in a loft somewhere until he dies. But he never, you know, nobody ever, nobody ever said to Van Gogh, 'Paint a Starry Night again, man!' You know? He painted it and that was it.

Nothing got inside the head without becoming pictures.

I got problems. I freak out, go to a shrink, go through all kinds of therapy and stuff, but I'm learning how to deal with it. That's why I've chosen one hour a night to get all of my aggressions out. to really tell the world the way I feel.

If you listen, you can hear it. The city, it sings. If you stand quietly, at the foot of a garden, in the middle of the street, on the roof of a house. It's clearest at night, when the sound cuts more sharply across the surface of things, when the song reaches out to a place inside you. It's a wordless song, for the most, but it's a song all the same, and nobody hearing it could doubt what it sings. And the song sings the loudest when you pick out each note.

I don't know how I made those movies. I went out every single night, I smoked pot every single day. I drank. We did everything, but I never became a drug addict or an alcoholic. Other friends are dead, many of them. So many people in this retrospective...in Female Trouble, almost everyone is dead.

It is the hour of pearl—the interval between day and night when time stops and examines itself.