Twilight Hour Quotes & Sayings

TWILIGHT I have dreamed of flight. And I have dreamed of your laces strewn in the bedroom. I have dreamed of some mother walking the length of a wharf and at fifteen nursing the hour. I have dreamed of flight. A "forever" sighed at a fo'c'sle ladder. I have dreamed of a mother, of fresh sprigs of table-greens, and the stars stitched in bridals of the dawn. The length of a wharf ... the length of a drowning throat! Translated by John Knoepfle — Robert Bly

Twilight hour. Indian blue, water of glass, trees glistening and liquescent. — Henry Miller

How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

An uninterrupted view of the Paris skyline was spread out before her, like a giant landscape painting rendered in shades of blue-grey, charcoal and purple-tinted umber; the dreamy palette of shifting shadows at twilight. The blue hour. — Kathleen Tessaro

To be alone - the eternal refrain of life. It wasn't better or worse than anything else. One talked too much about it. One was always and never alone. A violin, suddenly - somewhere out of a twilight - in a garden on the hills around Budapest. The heavy scent of chestnuts. The wind. And dreams crouched on one's shoulders like young owls, their eyes becoming lighter in the dusk. A night that never became night. The hour when all women were beautiful. — Erich Maria Remarque

What is it about this twilight hour? Even the sound of a barely perceptible breeze pierces the heart. — Ono No Komachi

The deepest shade of twilight did not send him from his favourite plane-tree. He loved the soothing hour, when the last tints of light die away; when the stars, one by one, tremble through aether, and are reflected on the dark mirror of the waters; that hour, which, of all others, inspires the mind with pensive tenderness, and often elevates it to sublime contemplation. When the moon shed her soft rays among the foliage, he still lingered, and his pastoral supper of cream and fruits was often spread beneath it. Then, on the stillness of night, came the song of the nightingale, breathing sweetness, and awakening melancholy. — Ann Radcliffe

The twilight hour comes: even my grief is swept away by the anonymity of life. — Montri Umavijani

The breath of springtime at this twilight hour
Comes through the gathering glooms,
And bears the stolen sweets of many a flower
Into my silent rooms. — William C. Bryant

AUTUMNAL

Pale amber sunlight falls across
The reddening October trees,
That hardly sway before a breeze
As soft as summer: summer's loss
Seems little, dear! on days like these.

Let misty autumn be our part!
The twilight of the year is sweet:
Where shadow and the darkness meet
Our love, a twilight of the heart
Eludes a little time's deceit.

Are we not better and at home
In dreamful Autumn, we who deem
No harvest joy is worth a dream?
A little while and night shall come,
A little while, then, let us dream.

Beyond the pearled horizons lie
Winter and night: awaiting these
We garner this poor hour of ease,
Until love turn from us and die
Beneath the drear November trees. — Ernest Dowson

What heart has not acknowledged the influence of this hour, the sweet and soothing hour of twilight, the hour of love, the hour of adoration, the hour of rest, when we think of those we love only to regret that we have not loved them more dearly, when we remember our enemies only to forgive them. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

By the end of the week, clouds darker still had arrived and with them hot, damp air. Turner could smell the coming storm. The darkness of it gathering an hour or so away, racing ahead of dusk - the edges of the cloud through the wide skylight, deep in the West. Bruised. Fractious. Rising up to smother the slowly sinking sun. And now it was all but upon him, this vast wave of vapour, tumbling overhead.
A deep violet shadow poured down through the glass, its false twilight drowning everything. There came the first shudderings of thunder. And, all around, a dangerous stormlight. Carravaggian. — John A. Scott

Remember the day doesn't start at sunrise. Twilight starts about half an hour or so before sunrise and while it still looks dark the camera will pick up lots of light. If you get there really early you will have the opportunity to make some night shots too! — Anne McKinnell

Mr. Tulkinghorn, sitting in the twilight by the open window, enjoys his wine. As if it whispered to him of its fifty years of silence and seclusion, it shuts him up the closer. More impenetrable than ever, he sits, and drinks, and mellows as it were in secrecy, pondering at that twilight hour on all the mysteries he knows. — Charles Dickens

The shortest day has passed, and whatever nastiness of weather we may look forward to in January and February, at least we notice that the days are getting longer. Minute by minute they lengthen out. It takes some weeks before we become aware of the change. It is imperceptible even as the growth of a child, as you watch it day by day, until the moment comes when with a start of delighted surprise we realize that we can stay out of doors in a
twilight lasting for another quarter of a precious hour. — Vita Sackville-West

Night is done, gone the moon, gone the stars
From the skies.
Fades the black of night
Comes the morn with rosy light.
Fold your wings, go to sleep,
Rest your gizzards, Safe you'll be for the day.
Glaux is nigh.
Far away is first black,
But it shall seep back
Over field
Over flower
In the twilight hour.
We are home in our tree.
We are owls, we are free.
As we go, this we know
Glaux is nigh. — Kathryn Lasky

Happy the heart that keeps its twilight hour, And, in the depths of heavenly peace reclined, Loves to commune with thoughts of tender power,
A shining Jacob's-ladder of the mind! — Paul Hamilton Hayne

We stay this way until twilight colours the window and the hour calls me home — David Levithan

The water nymphs who came to Poseidon
explained how little they desired to couple
with the gods. Except to find out
whether it was different, whether there was
a fresh world, another dimension in their loins.
In the old Pittsburgh, we dreamed of a city
where women read Proust in the original French,
and wondered whether we would cross over
into a different joy if we paid a call girl
a thousand dollars for a night. Or an hour.
Would it be different in kind or only
tricks and apparatus? I worried that a great
love might make everything else an exile.
It turned out that being together
at twilight in the olive groves of Umbria
did, indeed, measure everything after that. — Jack Gilbert

It is in this unearthly first hour of spring twilight that earth's almost agonized livingness is most felt. This hour is so dreadful to some people that they hurry indoors and turn on the lights. — Elizabeth Bowen

Twilight is the hour I love,' he told her, 'the hour where nothing is quite itself, all things teetering at the edges of their names. Here I can be alone and a stranger to myself. — Keith Miller

To set out for rehearsals in that quivering quarter-hour is to engage conclusions, not beginnings, for one walks past the guilded hallucinations of poverty with a corrupt resignation touched by details, as if the destitute, in their orange-tinted back yards, under their dusty trees, or climbing into their favelas, were all natural scene designers and poverty were not a condition but an art. Deprivation is made lyrical, and twilight, with the patience of alchemy, almost transmutes despair into virtue. In the tropics nothing is lovelier than the allotments of the poor, no theater is as vivid, voluble, and cheap. — Derek Walcott

The sun was still out, wouldn't even start to set for an hour, but the early evening still had that "magic hour" feeling. The air was warm and breezy. The houses looked sparkling with windows reflecting the still bright sun. — Victoria Kahler

You see - the moulded whimsy of a frieze
on a portico keeps us from recognizing,
sometimes, the symmetry of the whole ...
You will leave; we'll forget one another;
but now and then the name of a street,
or a street organ weeping in the twilight,
will remind us in a more vivid and more
truthful way than thought could resurrect
or words convey, of that main thing
which was between us, the main thing which
we do not know ... And in that hour, the soul
will miraculously sense the charm
of past trifles, and we will understand
that in eternity all is eternal — Vladimir Nabokov

Seasons have built our lives hour by hour in the twilight of long, darkening commutes, and we arrive home too tired to speak of love and this we say only with a goodnight kiss. — Bruce Meyer

Toil is the portion of day, as sleep is that of night; but if there be one hour of the twenty-four which has the life of day without its labor, and the rest of night without its slumber, it is the lovely and languid hour of twilight. — Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Mounting toward the upland again, I pause reverently, as the hush and stillness of twilight come upon the woods. It is the sweetest, ripest hour of the day. And as the hermit's evening hymn goes up from the deep solitude below me, I experience that serene exaltation of sentiment of which music, literature, and religion are but the faint types and symbols. — John Burroughs

Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat
Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast,
Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest ... — William Butler Yeats

That tank," Bucktooth pointed at the gas gauge on the dashboard of the decidedly unfredneck-like '65 Dodge Dart, "is almost empty. We ain't going much farther."
"Indeed it is." A solemn Phosphate agreed. "I suggest we stop the car and weigh our options."
"What options?" Professor Buckley asked. "Why do-that is- we've been traveling up and down this path for over an hour without seeing anyone or encountering anything. Even the doughnut shop cannot be relocated. In light of this, what options do we have?"
It was difficult to argue with the ex-history teacher's typically alarmist position. Brisbane's reliable old automobile had indeed been expending its remaining fuel supply in what seemed to be a hopeless effort to exit the unnamed dirt path. After leaving the doughnut shop and the blonde presidential descendant who worked there, they'd been unable to find DeMohrenschildt Lane again, or any other side street. — Donald Jeffries

Twilight was the worst hour, because it was the hour of indecision. — Helen Eustis