Admire Sweet Night Quotes

DREAMS are not only which you experienced in that sweet night behind the darkness,Dreams are your own,admire,wishing for your future sun rays.... :) :) ~ Lav Bamaniya

Mine is the time of foliage,
When hills and valleys teem
With buds and vines sweet scented,
All clothed in glowing green.

My nights are bright and starry,
My days are long and clear
And truly I'm the fairest,
Of all months in the year. ~ Mary Weston Fordham

Oh how sweet to work for God all day, and then lie down at night beneath His smile. ~ Robert M

O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself - projecting me;
O solitary me, listening - nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you;
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations,
Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me,
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there, in the night,
By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon,
The messenger there arous'd - the fire, the sweet hell within,
The unknown want, the destiny of me. ~ Walt Whitman

I want to wash your hair with a shampoo that smells like fruit - mango, or strawberries. I want to walk on a beach with you, dragging a big stick behind us, making a message in the sand that we try to believe an airplane will really see. I want to kiss saltwater from your lips. I want us to listen to music with our eyes closed; I want to read musty books while lying next to you - books about fascinating things like mummies and eccentric artists and old shipwrecks in the Pacific. I want to have picnics on our bed and crawl into cotton sheets that smell like summer because we left the windows open when we were gone. I want to wake in the night with you and marvel at the stars and try to find the moon through the trees. I want all the sweet things in life. But only by your side. ~ Deb Caletti

I didn't think you were real for a long time," I confess. "I thought you were someone I'd dreamed up."
"A dream worth reliving every night for ten years?" he asks, chuckling and slowly loosening his hold.
"For eternity," I whisper, winding my arms around his neck to keep him close.
"Good." He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. "That is exactly how long I plan on keeping you. ~ Erica Cameron

Happiest time of youth and life, when love is first spoken and returned; when the dearest eyes are daily shining welcome, and the fondest lips never tire of whispering their sweet secrets; when the parting look that accompanies "Good night!" gives delightful warning of tomorrow. ~ William Makepeace Thackeray

Sweet discourse makes short daies and nights.
[Sweet discourse makes short days and nights.] ~ George Herbert

Being lost is where the beauty lies. Lost in a book. Lost in someone's eyes. Lost in a symphony so sweet it brings you to tears." She smiles. "Lost in a beautiful floating city on a starry night. This is magical, yes? It's being found that's the disappointment. ~ Lori Nelson Spielman

Right when my fingers started to slip inside my underwear, I opened my eyes and screamed. "HOLY SHIT!" My son stood there next to the bed just staring at me. Seriously, two inches from my face just staring at me like those creepy twins in "The Shining." I waited for him to start saying, "Come play with us" in their freaky twin voices while I tried not to have a heart attack. "Gavin, seriously. You can't just stand here and stare at mommy. It's weird," I grumbled as I put my hand to my aching head and tried to calm my pounding heart. Sweet Jesus, who kicked me in the head and shit in my mouth last night? "You said a bad word, Mommy, ~ Tara Sivec

There were nights for instance, especially in August, where the view of the full moon from the top of the Acropolis hill or from a high terrace could steal your breath away. The moon would slide over the clouds like a seducing princess dressed in her finest silvery silk. And the sky would be full of stars that trembled feebly, like servants that bowed before her. During those nights under the light of the August full moon, the city of Athens would become an enchanted kingdom that slept lazily under the sweet light of its ethereal mistress. ~ Effrosyni Moschoudi

This is what you do to me, Jane," he said in a voice raw with hunger. He grabbed her hand to press it against him there. "I've desired you from the day we first met."
As his flesh moved beneath the stockinette, she swallowed. "I don't recall ever seeing you like this back then--all…big and thrusting. I think I would have noticed."
He choked back a laugh. "It's the sort of thing a gentleman generally takes great pains to keep his lady from seeing. But tonight you're making it difficult for me to behave."
"Good! I don't want you to behave. I want you to be wicked." She fondled him shamelessly. "With me."
A harsh breath escaped him. "You have no idea what being wicked entails."
"Then perhaps you should show me."
His eyes glinted in the lantern light and he growled, "Perhaps I should."
Next thing she knew, he was sweeping the tools and carriage lanterns off the table near them. Then he lifted her onto it and parted her thighs with his hands.
"This, my sweet, is wicked," he warned just before he knelt to place his mouth on the secret part of her that lay in the juncture of her thighs.
Shock gripped her. It had been one thing to have him touch her furtively beneath her skirts last night, but this blatant, outrageous--
"Ohh, Dom…" She clasped the edge of the table to keep from dissolving into a puddle. "That is..that is…"
"Wicked?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes dark with sinful promise.
She nodded. Her cheeks surely shone as ~ Sabrina Jeffries

I am reminded of a story of Lord Krishna when he was a cowherd. Every night he invites the milkmaids to dance with him in the forest. They come and they dance. The night is dark, the fire in their midst roars and crackles, the beat of the music gets ever faster - the girls dance and dance and dance with their sweet lord, who has made himself so abundant as to be in the arms of each and every girl. But the moment the girls become possessive, the moment each one imagines that Krishna is her partner alone, he vanishes. So it is that we should not be jealous of God. ~ Yann Martel

Dalton gaped at something in the stream.
"Did you see that trout? Where's my fishing pole when I need it?" He was leaning so far over she feared he might fall in headfirst. She grasped his arm and pulled him back.
"You made that up," she laughed. "You didn't see a fish. Trout don't swim at night."
"What makes you think that? They don't have a little house to go home to when the sun goes down, with a small woodstove and comfortable bed. ~ Caroline Fyffe

This can't happen, they were saying. Father can't be an old man. Samuel is young as the dawn--the perpetual dawn. He might get old as midday maybe, but sweet God! the evening cannot come, and the night--? Sweet God, no! There can't be any world without Samuel. ~ John Steinbeck

Children would beg for a peppermint drop each time he walked into town, and they'd follow behind, asking for a second and a third. When he died suddenly, while working late at his office, every boy and girl in the village reported smelling mint in the night air, as if somehing sweet had passed them right by. ~ Alice Hoffman

Miriam lifted her eyes from her sewing and found a glint of masculine lust in Owen's green eyes. Putting her sewing aside, she smiled nervously and got to her feet. "I...If you don't mind, I'll bid you good night, Mr. Vaughn."
He nodded, not caring to stand. His smile was so youthful in its rakishness that Miriam began to wonder if he'd read her mind. "A gentleman stands when a lady gets up to leave the room, Mr. Vaughn," she snapped, more disgusted with herself than with his lack of manners.
Owen shrugged but stood all the same. "Sweet dreams, Miriam," he taunted, deliberately taking the liberty of using her first name.
Miriam grasped the hem of the little basque jacket she wore over her fashionable two-piece dress of red bombazine, and gave it an indignant tug. "Good night, Mr. Vaughn." ~ Charlotte McPherren

I walked him to the door. "Is there anything else you want me to do? Check your mail? Water your plants?"
"My mail is being forwarded to my lawyer. And I'm watering my own plants."
"So, you feel safe in the Batcave?" The corners of his mouth curved into the hint of a smile. He leaned forward and kissed me at the base of my neck, just above my T-shirt collar.
"Sweet dreams." Before he left, he said good-night to Grandma, who was still in the kitchen.
"What a nice, polite young man," Grandma said. "And he's got an excellent package."
I went straight to her closet, found the bottle of booze, and dumped some into my cocoa. ~ Janet Evanovich

Gradually too, Trotta's disappointment was replaced by a sweet melancholy. He made a pact with his sadness. Everything in the world was as sad as it could be, and at the very heart of this wretched world was the Lieutenant. It was for him that the frogs were bruiting so piteously tonight, and the pain-filled crickets were waiting on his behalf. It was for him that the spring night was filled with such a sweet and easy sadness, for him that the stars were positioned so unattainably high in the sky, and it was to him alone that their light blinked so longingly and vainly. The unending pain of the world fitted itself to Trotta's hurt. ~ Joseph Roth

That sense of loss grew within the humans who had been left behind, left to live without unicorns. Even the ones who had never seen a unicorn, never heard of a unicorn, felt the passing of something sweet and wonderful. It was as if the air had surrendered a bit of its spice, the water a bit of its sparkle, the night a bit of its mystery. ~ Bruce Coville

Night. Heavenly delicious sweet night of the desert that calls all of us to love her. The night is our comfort with her coolness and darkness. On wings, on feet, on our bellies, out we all come to glory in the night. ~ Leslie Marmon Silko

That day and night, the bleeding and the screaming, had knocked something askew for Esme, like a picture swinging crooked on a wall. She loved the life she lived with her mother. It was beautiful. It was, she sometimes thought, a sweet emulation of the fairy tales they cherished in their lovely, gold-edged books. They sewed their own clothes from bolts of velvet and silk, ate all their meals as picnics, indoors or out, and danced on the rooftop, cutting passageways through the fog with their bodies. They embroidered tapestries of their own design, wove endless melodies on their violins, charted the course of the moon each month, and went to the theater and the ballet as often as they liked--every night last week to see Swan Lake again and again. Esme herself could dance like a faerie, climb trees like a squirrel, and sit so still in the park that birds would come to perch on her. Her mother had taught her all that, and for years it had been enough. But she wasn't a little girl anymore, and she had begun to catch hints and glints of another world outside her pretty little life, one filled with spice and poetry and strangers. ~ Laini Taylor

Without You"

My Pillow gazes upon me at night
Empty as a gravestone;
I never thought it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Not to lie down asleep in your hair.

I lie alone in a silent house,
The hanging lamp darkened,
And gently stretch out my hands
To gather in yours,
And softly press my warm mouth
Toward you, and kiss myself, exhausted and weak-
Then suddenly I'm awake
And all around me the cold night grows still.
The star in the window shines clearly-
Where is your blond hair,
Where your sweet mouth?

Now I drink pain in every delight
And poison in every wine;
I never knew it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Alone, without you. ~ Hermann Hesse

It's not pretty and perfect I am feeling today. Not in the mood for soft and contained. Not light or well-behaved or sugary sweet. No. I'm not willing to round off my sharp edges or make safe the danger zones. Not for you. Not for anyone, really. There's no room in me for gentle today. It's explore at your own risk, full on howl time. Oh, I can make nice. And I do. You'll only get past the surface if I deem you worthy. But my inner landscape? It's pure wilderness, darling, and the wolves are running. The moon went dark last night, loves, and something crashed and spiraled so something else could rise. It's time for music that courts the shadows and for dancing that sheds skin. Creation is calling and my muse, she likes it rough. Are you with me? Good. Now we can begin... ~ Jeanette LeBlanc

I think most women, especially women who work hard and have a lot on their mind, prefer a man to come home, lift her off her feet and take her against the wall rather than hand her some bullshit flowers and pussyfoot around with sweet gestures all night. ~ Vi Keeland

Ottolenghi sells lots of delicious sweet things, but my daily addiction is their unbelievable dark chocolate salted caramel biscuits. They're the best things in the world - I go through half a packet every night. I bring them out after pudding at dinner parties. ~ Trinny Woodall

The Night-Swans
by Walter De la Mare

'Tis silence on the enchanted lake,
And silence in the air serene,
Save for the beating of her heart,
The lovely-eyed Evangeline.

She sings across the waters clear
And dark with trees and stars between,
The notes her fairy godmother
Taught her, the child Evangeline.

As might the unrippled pool reply,
Faltering an answer far and sweet,
Three swans as white as mountain snow
Swim mantling to her feet.

And still upon the lake they stay,
Their eyes black stars in all their snow,
And softly, in the glassy pool,
Their feet beat darkly to and fro.

She rides upon her little boat,
Her swans swim through the starry sheen,
Rowing her into Fairyland--
The lovely-eyed Evangeline.

'Tis silence on the enchanted lake,
And silence in the air serene;
Voices shall call in vain again
On earth the child Evangeline.

'Evangeline! Evangeline!'
Upstairs, downstairs, all in vain.
Her room is dim; her flowers faded;
She answers not again. ~ Walter De La Mare

The waitress delivered me a plate of towering blueberry pancakes dripping in butter. The sweet scent of the fluffy goodness had my stomach rumbling in appreciation. I pushed back my tall glass of orange juice to make way for the food that was about to be introduced to my belly. I swirled my finger around in a giant pad of softening butter and brought it to my lips as the waitress handed Holt his own stack of pancakes plus a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. When she was gone, I reached for the syrup.
"Are you trying to kill me?" Holt said, leaning over the table and stabbing his fork in my direction.
I glanced dubiously at the fork. "Are you trying to kill me?"
He grinned. "You can't just go around licking your fingers like that, Freckles. It makes a man forget he's in a public place."
I laughed and dug into my pancakes, shoving an unladylike bite into my mouth and then groaning as the sweetness slid over my tongue.
"There you go again," he said, his eyes darkening with desire.
"Wasn't last night and this morning enough for you?" I asked playfully.
"I don't think I'll ever get enough of you. ~ Cambria Hebert

My sweet Cassius," Merrick replied before cupping Cassius's cheek and kissing him again. "We shall make this the best night of our lives."
Cassius grinned, kissed Merrick's hand, and said, "It already is ~ Riley Hart

No one was more curious and excited about other cultures and peoples than Caroline. She sometimes still remembered facts about cultures, ancient secrets and rituals, sites of ruins that excited her when she talked about them. But her knowledge was partial where it had once been whole, her frequency of recall erratic and often fuzzy, like a station she couldn't quite get tuned in on the dial so that it was clear.

The drugs that had been given her on the night she was gang-raped in Cozumel had scrambled her memories permanently, and sent her knowledge into dark scattered corners where she could no longer access them at will. Most of the time, she couldn't access them at all. When she did remember, she wrote it down on little notes she kept in her pockets. She had an I-Phone now, and sometimes she would transfer some of the notes to there, and to an I-Pad we kept around Sweet Caroline for that purpose. But Caroline still kept her paper notes, not trusting technology any more than I did. She took no chances, except the chance she'd taken on me, trusting me, letting me love her. From the outside, it might have appeared as though she needed me more than I needed her, but only to those who didn't know I'd crossed a moral line from which I might never have returned had it not been for the strength and spirit of Caroline. ~ Bobby Underwood

Alice in Darkness

Forget tears. Chasing
white animals with timepieces
in this drug-trip landscape
can only lead to more of same.
Hedgehogs, playing cards, paintbrushes:
full of undisclosed danger.
Didn't your mother tell you
not to kiss strangers?
That Cheshire smile shouldn't fool you.
Pull your skirt down.
Your nails are growing so fast
you're hardly human.
Alice, fight your version of Bedlam
as long as you can.
Sleep the sweet dream away
from that gooey looking glass, or mushrooms,
or the fear of your own body.
Forget what the night tastes like.
Stop wondering through the shadows,
holding your neck out
for the slice of the axe. ~ Jeannine Hall Gailey

Love's Question "
And is this all true,
My ever-loving friend?
That the lightning-flash of the light in my eyes
Makes the clouds in your heart explode and blaze,
Is this true?
That my sweet lips are red as a blushing new bride,
My ever-loving friend,
Is this true?

That a tree of paradise flowers withing me,
That my foosteps ring like vinas beneath me,
Is this true?
That the night sheds drops of dew at the sight of me,
That the dawn surrounds me with light from delight in me,
Is this true?
That the touch of my hot cheek intoxicates the breeze,
My ever-loving friend,
Is this true?

That daylight hides in the dark of my hair,
That my arms hold life and death in their power,
Is this true?
That the earth can be wrapped in the end of my sari,
That my voice makes the world fall silent to hear me,
Is this true?
That the univrse is nothing but me and what loves me,
My ever-loving friend,
Is this true?

That for me alone your love has been waiting
Through worlds and ages awake and wandering,
Is this true?
That my voice, eyes, lips have brought you relief,
In a trice, from the cycle of life after life,
Is this true?
That you read on my soft forehead inginite Truth,
My ever-loving friend,
Is this true? ~ Rabindranath Tagore

Morgan sighed. "I," she announced, "am so pathetic."
"You are not," I said.
"I am." She went over and straightened the cling wrap, corner to corner. "Do you know how many times I've brought in devilled eggs? This is, like, the only time I haven't been sobbing and that's only 'cause I cried all night. And Norman," she said, her voice rising to a wail, "sweet Norman, always just acts so surprised to see the eggs, and pleased, and he never, once, has ever acted like he knew what they meant. ~ Sarah Dessen

Tomorrow! How sweet its prospects for a drunkard the night before. There is no better word. Before the earth hurls itself into sunshine, nothing is not possible. ~ Mary Karr