Night Air Quotes

The shadows were daunted only by the light that encircled Tom. They screeched their howling revolt into the night air, but no matter how many, or how loud and shrill their cries, the light could not be dimmed. ~ Diane M. Walker

I went to the window, opening the pierced shutters to look out over the sleeping city. The moon was waxing and hung half-full like some exotic silver jewel just over the horizon. From the courtyard below rose the scent of jasmine on the cool night air. A slender vine had wound its way up to the balcony, and I reached out, pinching off a single creamy white blossom. I lifted it to my nose, drinking in the thick sweetness of it as it filled my head, sending my senses reeling. There was something narcotic about that jasmine, something carnal and ethereal at the same time. I crushed the petals between my fingers, taking the scent onto my skin. It was not a fragrance to wear alone. It was too rich, too heady, too full of sensuality and promise. It was a fragrance for silken cushions and damp naked flesh and moonlit beds. I rubbed at my fingers, but the scent clung tightly, keeping me company as I sat in the window, listening to a song I had almost forgot and thinking of Gabriel Starke and the five years that stretched barrenly between us. ~ Deanna Raybourn

An endless scream pierced the frigid night air and shook the world with its rage and sorrow. The aged stone and brick that had withstood the great quake over a hundred years ago now trembled before its pain, and even the austere grimace of the lonely grotesque, its only witness, softened in pity. ~ Ava Zavora

[She] soon perceived that as she walked in the flock, sometimes with this one, sometimes with that, that the fresh night air was producing staggerings and serpentine courses among the men who had partaken too freely; some of the more careless women were also wandering in their gait ... Yet however terrestrial and lumpy their appearance just now to the mean unglamoured eye, to themselves the case was different. They followed the road with a sensation that they were soaring along in a supporting medium, possessed of original and profound thoughts, themselves and surrounding nature forming an organism of which all the parts harmoniously and joyously interpenetrated each other. They were as sublime as the moon and stars above them, and the moon and stars were as ardent as they. ~ Thomas Hardy

How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven. ~ Robert Southey

I look at the sky and the dust that separates us from the stars that will be my home. I breathe in the night air, the rotten night air, and I miss,
I miss,
I miss. ~ Corinne Duyvis

Darkness invades the dreams of the glassblower. Of all the unpleasantries his dreams grab in out of the night air, an extinguished light is the worst. Light in his dreams, was always hope: the basic moral hope. As the contacts break helically away, hope turns to darkness, and the glassblower wakes sharply tonight crying, Who? Who? ~ Thomas Pynchon

The people were all busy in their cars, listening to the radio, so there was no one to smile at, so I just sent my love to the traffic lights. No one ever appreciates them, all day long, working so hard to turn red and yellow and green, right in time with us to make sure we don't crash into each other. If there was any tiny chance, even the tiniest chance, that they happened to be alive, I bet I was the first person ever to tell them they were special. You are special, I said out loud in my car, but in case they couldn't hear, I cracked my window open. "You are special," I said, to the night air.
And just like that, a green light. ~ Aimee Bender

I walked to the windows and pulled the shades up and opened the windows wide. The night air came drifting in with a kind of stale sweetness that still remembered automobile exhausts and the streets of the city. I reached for my drink and drank it slowly. The apartment house door closed itself down below me. Steps tinkled on the quiet sidewalk. A car started up not far away. It rushed off into the night with a rough clashing of gears. I went back to the bed and looked down at it. The imprint of her head was still in the pillow, of her small corrupt body still on the sheets. I put my empty glass down and tore the bed to pieces savagely. ~ Raymond Chandler

I guess I feel like someone forgot to write down my beginning, and I just showed up in the middle of things, in time for this." I hold my arms up in the sticky night air as if hugging the sky. "And I don't really get what I'm supposed to do with the present because I can't see the whole picture. But until I can figure out my own place in all of this, I want to hear other people's stories. Knowing stories that have been around forever and have almost been lost a hundred times already, it feels important. ~ Emily Henry

Strains of music spring up, crystallizing in the night air like rain turning suddenly to snow, drifting to earth. ~ Lauren Oliver

I am in the night of the stars.

The moon is new and I see my way by focusing on the light given off by the Souls of the trees. The night air is thick and dark and sweet, like blueberries. It enters my nose and throat and ears to fill me up with its night magic.

My ancestors are with me. They are in me. I can hear them. I felt them all day. My great grandmother, Lily Rose, came first. They will guide me with voices that flicker like lightening bugs, orange, hot, liquid glow in the moment. ~ Sophia Rose

You lay your hand against his skin and just rib his back. Blow into his ear. Press that baby up against your own skin and walk outside with him, where the night air will sourround him, and moonlight fall on his face. Whistle, maybe. Dance. Hum. Pray.
(how to calm a crying baby) ~ Joyce Maynard

One day, putting my finger on a spot in the very middle of the then white heart of Africa, I declared that some day I would go there ... It is a fact that, about eighteen years afterwards, a wretched little stern-wheel steamboat I commanded lay moored to the bank of an African river.

Everything was dark under the stars. Every other white man on board was asleep. I was glad to be alone on deck, smoking the pipe of peace after an anxious day. The subdued thundering mutter of the Stanley Falls hung in the heavy night air of the last navigable reach of the Upper Congo ... Away in the middle of the stream, on a little island nestling all black in the foam of the broken water, a solitary little light glimmered feebly, and I said to myself with awe, 'This is the very spot of my boyish boast.'

A great melancholy descended on me. Yes, this was the very spot. But there was no shadowy friend to stand by my side in the night of the enormous wilderness, no great haunting memory, but only the ... distasteful knowledge of the vilest scramble for loot that ever disfigured the history of human conscience and geographical exploration. What an end to the idealised realities of a boy's daydreams!... Still, the fact remains that I have smoked a pipe of peace at midnight in the very heart of the African continent, and felt very lonely there. ~ Joseph Conrad

It never bored them to hear words, words; they breathed them with the cool night air, never stopping to analyse; the name of the poet, Hafiz, Hali, Iqbal, was sufficient guarantee. India - a hundred Indias - whispered outside beneath the indifferent moon, but for the time India seemed one and their own, and they regained their departed greatness by hearing its departure lamented, they felt young again because reminded that youth must fly. ~ E. M. Forster

And if it happened to be a Christmas-night when the great bell seemed to rattle in its throat as it called the faithful to the midnight mass, there was such an indescribable air of life spread over the sombre facade that the great door-way looked as if it were swallowing the entire crowd, and the rose-window staring at them. ~ Victor Hugo

Hugh's grunt sounded hollow in the night air. How dense of me not to have guessed the truth. ~ Sandra Ardoin

Forget about that and kiss me," I say.
I weave my hands in her hair. She wraps her arms around my neck as I trace the valley between her lips with my tongue. Parting her lips, I deepen the kiss. It's like a tango, first moving slow and rhythmic and then, when we're both panting and our tongues collide, the kiss turns into a hot, fast dance I never want to end. Carmen's kisses may have been hot, but Brittany's are more sensual, sexy, and extremely addictive.
We're still in the car, but it's cramped and the front seats don't give us enough room. Before I know it, we've moved to the backseat. Still not ideal, but I hardly notice.
I'm so getting into her moans and kisses and hands in my hair. And the smell of vanilla cookies. I'm not going to push her too far tonight. But without thinking, my hand slowly moves up her bare thigh.
"It feels so good," she says breathlessly.
I lean her back while my hands explore on their own. My lips caress the hollow of her neck as I ease down the strap to her dress and bra. In response, she unbuttons my shirt. When it's open, her fingers roam over my chest and shoulders, searing my skin.
"You're . . . perfect," she pants.
Right now I'm not gonna argue with her. Moving lower, my tongue follows a path down to her silky skin exposed to the night air. She grabs the back of my hair, urging me on. She tastes so damn good. Too good. !Caramelo!
I pull away a few inches and capture her gaze with mine, those shining ~ Simone Elkeles

sweetness on the tongue and a promise of scent on the night air. It was sensual in the best meaning of that word, saturating every sense at once, so that the flesh was known, finally, as a thing of such goodness that man blessed his Creator from morning to night for having made him. Here in this medieval town where once an extraordinary little fellow had burst forth with songs to God, as a passionate lover speaks to his bride, here the restoration of man to his own true home was no longer the dream of saints. It was the wedding feast. It was a word made flesh. ~ Michael D. O'Brien

The Snow Cricket

Just beyond the leaves and the white faces
Of the lilies,
I saw the wings
Of the green snow cricket
As it went flying
From vine to vine,
Searching, then finding a shadowed place in which
To sing and sing…
One repeated
Rippling phrase
Built of loneliness
And its consequences: longing
And hope…
It was trembling
With the force of its crying out,
And in truth I couldn't wait to see if another would come to it
For fear that it wouldn't,
And I wouldn't be able to bear it
I wished it good luck, with all my heart,
And went back over the lawn, to where the lilies were standing
On their calm, cob feet,
Each in the ease
Of a single, waxy body
Breathing contentedly in the chill night air;
And I swear I pitied them, as I looked down
into the theater of their perfect faces-
That frozen, bottomless glare. ~ Mary Oliver

We filled the night air with light and shone brighter than all those millions of glittering stars watching us from the sky. ~ Kenya Wright

Yes, Spring has come!
I felt it yesterday when I looked out the window at the moon over the rooftops, when I breathed in the fresh night air.
This morning I was awoken by the sun, drenched the room with bright warm light.
I opened my eyes, reached out to meet the sun and murmured "Good morning"! ~ Alena Shubina Lis

You taste of the cool water that hides deep in a stream. You taste of the night air, soft and scented and mysterious. The taste of you drives me wild. I want to be with you, be inside you, shout to the world that you are mine at the same time I want to keep you hidden where you will exist only for me. You make me feel invincible, little bird. ~ Katie MacAlister

Air buffeted him and he heard the heavy flap of wings. Rake smiled. "Silanah," he said softly, knowing she would hear him. The red dragon slipped between two towers and banked, returning to his position. "I know you sense the Demon Lord's presence, Silanah. You would help me in this. I know, I know." He shook his head. "Return to Moon's Spawn, dear friend. This battle is mine. Yours is done. But know this: if I fail, you may seek to avenge my death." Silanah swept overhead and loosed a thin wail. "Go home," Rake whispered. The red dragon cried again, then swung westward and rose through the night air. ~ Steven Erikson

I rock in his arms under the stars and the blanket of night air, unwilling or unable to tear myself away. ~ Lisa Daily

My thoughts by night are often filled With visions false as fair: For in the past alone, I build My castles in the air. ~ Thomas Love Peacock

But somehow, standing in the clear night air, under a sky that glowed like a shower of sparks, none of that stuff mattered. It slipped off me. It was like shedding your clothes before you step in the shower. I felt I was down to essentials again. In fact I felt very close to God at that moment. I guess if you're ever going to feel close to God it'll be while you're looking at the heavens. ~ John Marsden

Casting back her head, Arya gazed up at the twinkling sky, her long neck gold with firelight, her face pale with the radiance of the heavenx. "Do you ask out of friendly concern or your own self-interest?" She gave an abrupt, choked laugh, the sound of water falling over cold rocks. "Never mind. The night air has addled me. It has undone my sense of courtesy and left me free to say the most spiteful things that occur to me."
"No matter."
"It does matter, because I regret it, and I shall not tolerate it. Did I love Faolin? How would you define love? For over twenty years, we traveled together, the only immortals to walk among the short-lived races. We were companions ... and friends. ~ Christopher Paolini

He bowed in a courtly way as he replied: I am Dracula. and I bid you welcome, Mr Harker, to my house. Come in; the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest. ~ Bram Stoker

Maybe I should stare at the sky more often. Maybe I should enjoy the night air instead of shielding myself from it from. Rather than letting the never-ending blackness overwhelm me, maybe I should appreciate it for what it is: a background for the brilliance of stars. After all, without darkness, there can't be light. ~ Marni Mann

The cold night air outside was like a slap in the face. If I wasn't in Naughty Girl Martini Land, I would have sobered instantly. Unfortunately, I was deep in Naughty Girl Martini Land. So deep, I was skipping dazedly through the Naughty Girl Martini forest and leaping over the Naughty Girl Martini streams, completely oblivious to everything. ~ Kristen Ashley

The Tower is not a sacred monument, and no taboo can forbid a commonplace life to develop there, but there can be no question, nonetheless, of a trivial phenomenon here; the installation of a restaurant on the Tower, for instance ... The Eiffel Tower is a comfortable object, and moreover, it is in this that it its an object wither very old (analogous, for instance, to the Circus) or very modern (analogous to certain American institutions such as the drive-in movie, in which one can simultaneously enjoy the film, the car, the food, and the freshness of the night air). Further, by affording its visitor a whole polyphony of pleasures, from technological wonder to haute cuisine, including the panorama, the Tower ultimately reunites with the essential function of all major human sites: autarchy; the Tower can live on itself: one can dream there, eat there, observe there, understand there, marvel there, shop there, as on an ocean liner (another mythic object that sets children dreaming), one can feel oneself cut off from the world and yet the owner of a world. ~ Roland Barthes

Thank you for asking. Of course one wishes to break down on a heart-shaped sofa and week into one's lace handkerchief, but I am somehow managing to hold it together. After all, I still have a warlock contact."
Magnus inclined his head with a slight smile.
"Tessa Gray," said Raphael. "Very dignified lady. Very well-read. I think you know her?"
Magnus made a face at him. "It's not being a sass-monkey that I object to. That I like. It's the joyless attitude. One of the chief pleasures of life is mocking others, so occasionally show some glee about doing it. Have some joie de vivre."
"I'm undead," said Raphael.
"What about joie de unvivre?"
Raphael eyed him coldly. Magnus gestured his own question aside, his rings and trails of leftover magic leaving a sweep of leftover magic leaving a sweep of sparks in the night air, and sighed.
"Tessa," Magnus said with a long exhale. "She is a harbinger of ill news and I will be annoyed with her for dumping this problem in my lap for weeks. At least."
"What problem? Are you in trouble?" asked Raphael.
"Nothing I can't handle," said Magnus.
"Pity," said Raphael. "I was planning to point and laugh. Well, time to go. I'd say good luck with your dead-body bad-news thing, but ... I don't care."
"Take care of yourself, Raphael," said Magnus.
Raphael waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I always do. ~ Cassandra Clare

In the dark, in no starlight at all, the blocks hurtled invisibly by, ejected into the night air; he heard them break but he believed it was only the echoes of broken windows, not even his broken windows but someone else's in some other city, people all over the night searching madly for those who transmitted the vague and unpersuasive frequency of destiny, not even this night but some other night that came before, from which the sound of breaking windows reached him only now like the light of novae. Ice busting in the dirt. The storm turned north. ~ Steve Erickson

I'm tired of this place. Going with these guys when they leave so thought I'd start off my employment with an act of goodwill." The doors open and the night air streams in, cooling the lobby. "I'll help myself to the money in Ray's apartment you owe me. Don't think you'll be needing it anymore," Ollie shouts after them as they're shoved outside. ~ Joe Hart

And the stately lilies stand Fair in the silvery light, Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer; Their pure breath sanctifies the air, As its fragrance fills the night. ~ Julia Caroline Dorr

You Are What You Eat

Take food for example. We all assume that our craving or disgust is due to something about the food itself - as opposed to being an often arbitrary response preprogrammed by our culture. We understand that Australians prefer cricket to baseball, or that the French somehow find Gerard Depardieu sexy, but how hungry would you have to be before you would consider plucking a moth from the night air and popping it, frantic and dusty, into your mouth? Flap, crunch, ooze. You could wash it down with some saliva beer.How does a plate of sheep brain's sound? Broiled puppy with gravy? May we interest you in pig ears or shrimp heads? Perhaps a deep-fried songbird that you chew up, bones, beak, and all? A game of cricket on a field of grass is one thing, but pan-fried crickets over lemongrass? That's revolting.

Or is it? If lamb chops are fine, what makes lamb brains horrible? A pig's shoulder, haunch, and belly are damn fine eatin', but the ears, snout, and feet are gross? How is lobster so different from grasshopper? Who distinguishes delectable from disgusting, and what's their rationale? And what about all the expectations? Grind up those leftover pig parts, stuff 'em in an intestine, and you've got yourself respectable sausage or hot dogs. You may think bacon and eggs just go together, like French fries and ketchup or salt and pepper. But the combination of bacon and eggs for breakfast was dreamed up about a hundred years aqo by an advertis ~ Christopher Ryan

There is nothing I like better at the end of a hot summer's day than taking a short walk around the garden. You can smell the heat coming up from the earth to meet the cooler night air. ~ Peter Mayle

Evil is near. Sometimes late at night the air grows strongly clammy and cold around me. I feel it brushing me. All that the Devil asks is acquiescence not struggle, not conflict. Acquiescence. ~ Suzanne Massie

Poe, you wiener, get your ass over here!"
"Shut Up! I ain't a wiener!"
Broken, adolescent male laughter echoed through the night air, and if I hadn't been so damned mad, I'd have laughed too. Something about hearing a group of idiotic pubescent fifteen-year-old boys say wiener just cracked me up. ~ Elle Jasper

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware. ~ Thomas Hardy

It is hard to imagine the World Series being held in the sweet hazy sunshine of late September rather than the sour night air of late October, but that is precisely what has transpired in baseball over the past 50 years, a deterioration from light to darkness. ~ George Vecsey

This was Roberta's favorite time. The quiet, the chill of the leftover night air, the cold seeping into her legs and her feet, waking her up. The trees around the edges of the pitch were black against the sky, and from one of them three ravens took flight, rising stark and lonely against the clouds. ~ Simone St. James

If Z had only known in his perfectly lovely two rooms in Paris what he'd come to know in his single 6x8 block somewhere, he guessed, just outside Tel Aviv. If he'd had an inkling in that breezy French apartment of what true boredom felt like and true loneliness, and true limbo - what it might actually be like to be locked up, hidden away without hope. If he'd tasted real madness at that point, he'd not have decided that he was so bored and so crazy that, without TV or Radio or a suitably advanced French, that, at the very least, he deserved a taste of the night air and something decent to read, and maybe, if the shop was still open, a decent bottle of wine. ~ Nathan Englander

... The freshly devoured peppermint she loved lofted from her breath and up to his nose with her loud bellow of Father in his ear, and Caxton was sure that he could smell that scent now out in the crisp night air. "You demon!" he screamed with all his might. ... ~ Jettie Necole

I didn't answer right away; I was too busy savoring the moment. The delicious night air, the music of mama cows in a distant pasture, the trillions of stars overhead, the feeling of his fingers entwined in mine. The night couldn't have gone any more perfectly. I'm not sure anything, even going home with him, could possibly make it any better.
I started to open my mouth, but Marlboro Man beat me to it. Standing up and lifting me off the tailgate of his pickup, he carried me, Rhett Butler-style, toward the passenger door. Setting me down and opening my door, he said, "On second thought…I think I'd better take you home." I smiled, convinced he must have read my mind.
Whether he had or not, the fact was that instantly and noticeably the whole vibe between us had changed. Before I'd dumped my Chicago apartment and told him my plans to stay, the passion between us had sometimes felt urgent, rushed, almost as if some imaginary force was compelling us to get it all out right here, right now, because before too long we wouldn't have the chance. There'd been a quiet desperation in our romance up until that point, feelings of excitement and lust mixed with an uncomfortable hint of doom and dread. But now that my move had all but been eliminated from the equation, the doom and dread had been replaced with a beautiful sense of comfort. In the blink of an eye, Marlboro Man and I, while madly and insanely in love, were no longer in any hurry.
"Yeah," I said, nodding my head. ~ Ree Drummond

The Battle for the Philippines was the greatest naval battle in history, judged in terms of the number of ships taking part, the number of ships sunk, and the importance of its outcome. It included every form of naval warfare of the 20th century: gunnery duels between battleships; destroyer battles at night and by day, as ferocious and sustained as any at the Battle of Jutland; submarines that stalked the depths; sinking many ships; and finally, carrier warfare on a scale never dreamed of even by the most ardent enthusiasts of air warfare at sea. ~ Richard Hough

She refused to die like an animal locked in a cage. Like a girl with nothing to save her name. Better to die by the sword. Better to die at the mercy of the nightbeasts. To die in the night air. Free. ~ Renee Ahdieh

Darkness has been and shall ever be. Long after the substances that fuel heat and light have burned away - giving out at the end of a brief, fragile course - an everlasting night shall reign. Imlod Nir considered this as he watched the last tendrils of smoke from the evening's fire stream lazily into the night air. They mingled with black leaves under a low, moonlit canopy before melding into the consuming void. ~ John William

But he didn't know how to take my repression, wring it out, and throw it out the window. He didn't know how to fuck it out of me or quietly tell me to get undressed in the night air while he watched in such a way that wouldn't make me laugh. I couldn't have given Kevin my orgasms, because he didn't want them. I could never have asked him to hurt me, because he would have. ~ C.D. Reiss

May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air. ~ Franz Kafka

The odor of burning sulphur shifted on the night air, acrid, a little foul. Somewhere, the Canaan dwellers had learned of a supplier of castor - an extract from the beaver's perineal glands. Little packets containing the brown-orange mass of dried animal matter arrived from Detroit at the Post Office's "general delivery." At home, by the kerosene light, the recipients unwrapped the packets. A poor relative sometimes would be given some of the fibrous gland, bitter and smelling slightly like strong human sweat, and the rest would go into a Mason jar. Each night, as prescribed by old Burrifous through his oracle, Ronnie, a litt1e would be mixed with clear spring water. And as it gave the water a creamy, rusty look, the owner would sigh with awe and fear. The creature, wolf or man, became more real through the very specific which was to vanquish him. ~ Leslie H. Whitten Jr.

I used to think that if she were gone, you would come back to me."
"If she were gone, I would be nothing," Marco says. "You should think better of yourself than to settle for that."
They stand in silence on the empty street, the chill of the night air falling between them. ~ Erin Morgenstern

I love the chill October days, when the brown leaves lie thick and sodden underneath your feet ... the evenings in late autumn time, when the white mist creeps across the fields, making it seem as though old Earth, feeling the night air cold to its poor bones, were drawing ghostly bedclothes round its withered limbs. ~ Jerome K. Jerome

Hear the sledges with the bells, Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night, While the stars that oversprinkle All the Heavens seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight: Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells
From the jingling and the tingling of the bells. ~ Edgar Allan Poe

The gay bunting erects his white crest, and gives utterance to the joy he feels in the presence of his brooding mate; the willow grouse on the rock crows his challenge aloud; each floweret, chilled by the night air, expands its pure petals; the gentle breeze shakes from the blades of grass the heavy dewdrops. ~ John James Audubon

Fresh air makes me throw up. I can't handle it. I'd rather be around three Denobili cigars blowing in my face all night. ~ Frank Sinatra

Air racing may not be better than your wedding night, but it's better than the second night. ~ Mickey Rupp

I never dreamed you would be this beautiful," he said quietly, trembling slightly, his baritone voice resonating low and intimate as he scanned the length of her body.
"What do you m-m-" she began, her voice swallowed by another kiss. This one was more insistent, and she felt her skin jump. Her hips rocked, her stomach tensed at the firmer press of his mouth against hers. It was only once she leaned into him that she felt something hard and hot pressed against her hip, eliciting a soft groan into her mouth and a shiver that moved like a wave along his entire body. She mewled a wordless question against his lips, wanting to ask who he was. His only response was to skim his tongue across her teeth until they opened, letting him taste her.
Kore heard him sigh as his hand traced up her ribs and settled firmly on her breast. Her nipple instantly tightened under his palm and she cried into his mouth at the unanticipated pleasure of it. He languorously stroked her tongue with his and tasted of ancient groves and deep, warm earth, and the cold, faint sweetness of a foreign flower she knew but couldn't quite place. With a gasp she broke off the kiss to look up at him again, her face and neck flushed, her lips tingling, her heart pounding. The cool night air moved over her hot skin.
He smiled down at her again. "You taste exquisite. ~ Rachel Alexander

After dinner, as we had so many times during our months and months together, Marlboro Man and I adjourned to his porch. It was dark--we'd eaten late--and despite my silent five-minute battle with the reality of my reproductive system, there was definitely something special about the night. I stood at the railing, breathing in the dewy night air and taking in all the sounds of the countryside that would one day be my home. The pumping of a distant oil well, the symphony of crickets, the occasional moo of a mama cow, the manic yipping of coyotes…the din of country life was as present and reassuring as the cacophony of car horns, traffic sounds, and sirens had been in L.A. I loved everything about it.
He appeared behind me; his strong arms wrapped around my waist. Oh, it was real, all right--he was real. As I touched his forearms and ran the palms of my hands from his elbows down to his wrists, I'd never been more sure of how very real he was. Here, grasping me in his arms, was the Adonis of all the romance-novel fantasies I clearly never realized I'd been having; they'd been playing themselves out in steamy detail under the surface of my consciousness, and I never even knew I'd been missing it. I closed my eyes and rested my head back on his chest, just as his impossibly soft lips and subtle whiskers rested on my neck. Romancewise, it was perfection--the night air was still--almost imperceptible. Physically, viscerally, it was almost more than I could stand. Six babies? Su ~ Ree Drummond

I got Lamborghini dreams, eastside nightmares
Movin white ... my ice is cool as the night air ~ Roc Marciano

Sometimes you are working and you feel like walking out into the terrace, stretching, looking out and feeling the night air on your face. ~ Kleber Mendonca Filho

I wake sometimes in the dark terrified by my life's precariousness, its thready breath. Beside me, my husband's pulse beats at his throat; in their beds, my children's skin shows every faintest scratch. A breeze would blow them over, and the world is filled with more than breezes: diseases and disasters, monsters and pain in a thousand variations. I do not forget either my father and his kind hanging over us, bright and sharp as swords, aimed at our tearing flesh. If they do not fall on us in spite and malice, then they will fall by accident or whim. My breath fights in my throat. How can I live on beneath such a burden of doom? I rise then and go to my herbs. I create something, I transform something. My witchcraft is as strong as ever, stronger. This too is good fortune. How many have such power and leisure and defense as I do? Telemachus comes from our bed to find me. He sits with me in the greensmelling darkness, holding my hand. Our faces are both lined now, marked with our years. Circe, he says, it will be all right. It is not the saying of an oracle or a prophet. They are words you might speak to a child. I have heard him say them to our daughters, when he rocked them back to sleep from a nightmare, when he dressed their small cuts, soothed whatever stung. His skin is familiar as my own beneath my fingers. I listen to his breath, warm upon the night air, and somehow I am comforted. He does not mean it does not hurt. He does not mean we are not frightened. Only that: we ~ Madeline Miller

His scent engulfed me - fresh night air and evergreen. I buried my face in the hollow beneath his jaw as he shoved his Light into me- a terrible force of the sort I'd never imagined, hungry for distraction, intoxicating to the point of addiction. ~ Jocelyn Adams

Spar felt a tiny thud on the back of his shin, as if a moth had butted against him on its flight through the night air. Wait, had that been the small human? Had she kicked him? He could not tell by glancing at her face. ~ Christine Warren

Knight takes Knight," I called into the cloudy night air. "Check. ~ Jim Butcher

The night air slips into my lungs, and I feel like it is one of my first breaths. ~ Veronica Roth

I breathed in a deep dose of night air, trying to calm my schoolgirl nervousness. "I, umm…" I began. "I decided to stick around here a little while." There. I'd said it. This was all officially real.
Without a moment of hesitation, Marlboro Man wrapped his ample arms around my waist. Then, in what seemed to be less than a second, he hoisted me from my horizontal position on the bed of his pickup until we were both standing in front of each other. Scooping me off my feet, he raised me up to his height so his icy blue eyes were level with mine.
"Wait…are you serious?" he asked, taking my face in his hands. Squaring it in front of his. Looking me in the eye. "You're not going?"
"Nope," I answered.
"Whoa," he said, smiling and moving in for a long, impassioned kiss on the back of his Ford F250. "I can't believe it," he continued, squeezing me tightly.
Our knees buckled under the heat, and before I knew it we were back where we'd been before, rolling around and kissing manically in the bed of his diesel pickup. Occasionally my arm would hit a crowbar and my head would slam against a spare tire or a cattle prod or a jack; I didn't care, of course. I'd said what I wanted to say that night. Everything else--even minor head injuries--was a piece of cake.
We stayed there a long, long time, the balmy night air giving us no good reason to leave. Under the innumerable stars, amidst all the embraces and kisses and sounds from the surrounding livestock, I sudde ~ Ree Drummond

She wished a silly, girlish wish: that she'd had a chance to really fly on the carpet when it was still a carpet. With Aladdin. Zooming through the night air like she was doing now, but with his warm arms to hold on to and the entire world at their feet. They could have gone anywhere they wanted. They would have been completely free. ~ Liz Braswell

The smell of hyacinths in the summer night air. At this moment, standing here with a boy I just met who already feels like home, I am overwhelmed with city love. ~ Susane Colasanti

The corridor dissolved, and the scene took a little longer to reform: Harry seemed to fly through shifting shapes and colors until his surroundings solidified again and he stood on a hilltop, forlorn and cold in the darkness, the wind whistling through the branches of a few leafless trees. The adult Snape was panting, turning on the spot, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, waiting for something or for someone… His fear infected Harry too, even though he knew that he could not be harmed, and he looked over his shoulder, wondering what it was that Snape was waiting for -
Then a blinding, jagged jet of white light flew through the air. Harry thought of lightning, but Snape had dropped to his knees and his wand had flown out of his hand.
"Don't kill me!"
"That was not my intention."
Any sound of Dumbledore Apparating had been drowned by the sound of the wind in the branches. He stood before Snape with his robes whipping around him, and his face was illuminated from below in the light cast by his wand.
"Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"
"No - no message - I'm here on my own account!"
Snape was wringing his hands. He looked a little mad, with his straggling black hair flying around him.
"I - I come with a warning - no, a request - please - "
Dumbledore flicked his wand. Though leaves and branches still flew through the night air around them, silence fell on the spot where he and Snape faced eac ~ J.K. Rowling

It's a great honor, m'ijo. We know that. I'm sure everyone in Ysleta is proud of you. But this is who you are," she said, for a moment scanning the dark night air and the empty street. A cricket chirped in the darkness. "God help you when you go to this 'Havid.' You will be so far away from us, from everything you know. You will be alone. What if something happens to you? Who's going to help you? But you always wanted to be alone; you were always so independent, so stubborn."

"Like you. ~ Sergio Troncoso

And poor Mr. Bix!
Every morning at six,
poor Mr. Bix has his Borfin to fix!
It doesn't seem fair. It just doesn't seem right,
but his Borfin just seems to go shlump every night.
It shlumps in a heap, sadly needing repair.
Bix figures it's due to the local night air.
It takes him all day to un-shlump it.
And then ...
the night air comes back
and it shlumps once again!
So don't you feel blue. Don't get down in the dumps.
You're lucky you don't have a Borfin that shlumps. ~ Dr. Seuss

Nate stared, slack-jawed as the cab merged with the traffic and became impossible to spot. That was it.
They chose each other.
Just then, the dark sky lit up with fireworks. A cab sailing the street honked in celebration . In the night air , Nate thought he could hear Serena and Blairs' laughter, though he knew that was impossible; they were too far away by now.
But as we know, in this city anything is possible ~ Cecily Von Ziegesar

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

There was a languid feel to the night air the following evening. The breeze was ~ Nicholas Sparks

Its aura distorts hard edges. Shimmering vortices of discoloration boil off, swirling, licking the
cold night air with bright spectral fire. Violence and death, this one's still hot. ~ Michael Allan Scott

There was no violence, no speed. It moved to the rhythm of an elder dance, putting all the rituals of the world to shame. Black, silver, gold and moon-opal, night and sea, fire, earth, air and water. ~ Tanith Lee

Where am I?" Magnus croaked.
"Nazca."
"Oh, so we went on a little trip."
"You broke into a man's house," Catarina said. "You stole a carpet and enchanted it to fly. Then you sped off into the night air. We pursued you on foot."
"Ah," said Magnus.
"You were shouting some things."
"What things?"
"I prefer not to repeat them," Catarina said. "I also prefer not to remember the time we spent in the desert. It is a mammoth desert, Magnus. Ordinary deserts are quite large. Mammoth deserts are so called because they are larger than ordinary deserts."
"Thank you for that interesting and enlightening information," Magnus croaked.
"You told us to leave you in the desert, because you planned to start a new life as a cactus," Catarina said, her voice flat. "Then you conjured up tiny needles and threw them at us. With pinpoint accuracy."
"Well," he said with dignity. "Considering my highly intoxicated state, you must have been impressed with my aim."
"'Impressed' is not the word to use to describe how I felt last night, Magnus."
"I thank you for stopping me there," Magnus said. "It was for the best. You are a true friend. No harm done. Let's say no more about it. Could you possibly fetch me - "
"Oh, we couldn't stop you," Catarina interrupted. "We tried, but you giggled, leaped onto the carpet, and flew away again. You kept saying that you wanted to go to Moquegua."
"What did I do in Moquegua?"
"You never got there, ~ Cassandra Clare

The night air was still and damp rising from the mud banks of the creek. Our lives had been determined by the random flow of water through weaknesses in the soil. Where there was water there was humanity. Especially now, with no stable forms of transportation, our villages were all based on the flow of water. From the sides of the mountains we'd traversed just days ago it looked like an open expanse of nothing. From here it looked like an open expanse of nothing. Staring into the void above, it was the same nothing. Staring into my heart was the only form of anything solid and that was suspect at best. ~ Charles Miske

Oh, Spring is surely coming, Her couriers fill the air; Each morn are new arrivals, Each night her ways prepare; I scent her fragrant garments, Her foot is on the stair. ~ John Burroughs

Outside, overgrown grass lapped dew on Ronan's boots, and mist curled around the tyres of the charcoal BMW. The sky over Monmouth Manufacturing was the colour of a muddy lake. It was cold, but Ronan's gasoline heart was firing. He settled into the car, letting it become his skin. The night air was still coiled beneath the seats and lurking in the door pockets; he shivered as he tethered his raven to the seat belt fastener in the passenger seat. Not the fanciest setup, but effective for keeping a corvid from flapping around one's sports car. Chainsaw bit him, but not as hard as the early morning cold. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

Even at midnight the city groans in the heat. We have had no rain for quite a while. The traffic sounds below ride the night air in waves of trigonometry, the cosine of a siren, the tangent of a sigh, a system, an axis, a logic to this chaos, yes. ~ Lorrie Moore

There is little we can point to in our lives as deserving anything but God's wrath. Our best moments have been mostly grotesque parodies. Our best loves have been almost always blurred wtih selfishness and deceit. But there is something to which we can point. Not anything that we ever did or were, but something that was done for us by another. Not our own lives, but the life of one who died in our behalf and yet is still alive. This is our only glory and our only hope. And the sound that it makes is the sound of excitement and gladness and laughter that floats through the night air from a great banquet. ~ Frederick Buechner

The last rain had come at the beginning of April and now, at the first of June, all but the hardiest mosquitoes had left their papery skins in the grass. It was already seven o'clock in the morning, long past time to close windows and doors, trap what was left of the night air slightly cooler only by virtue of the dark. The dust on the gravel had just enough energy to drift a short distance and then collapse on the flower beds. The sun had a white cast, as if shade and shadow, any flicker of nuance, had been burned out by its own fierce center. There would be no late afternoon gold, no pale early morning yellow, no flaming orange at sunset. If the plants had vocal cords they would sing their holy dirges like slaves. ~ Jane Hamilton

Elinor retreated to the terrace where the night air on her skin felt like a hot bath. She was hurt, it had been such an onslaught. All the things she'd achieved in the past four years, the independent life she'd built for herself, seemed to count for nothing here. The only thing that mattered to her mother was finding a husband. As for painting, well, nice little hobby, very suitable, but you won't have much time for that when the children arrive. ~ Pat Barker

It was the first time the chief of police, a kindly family man whose name was Hook, had ever been required to visit a girls' camp; his daughters had not gone in much for that sort of thing, and Mrs. Hook distrusted night air; it was also the first time that Chief Hook had ever been required to determine facts. He had been allowed to continue in office this long because his family was popular in town and the young men at the local bar liked him, and because his record for twenty years, of drunks locked up and petty thieves apprehended upon confession, had been immaculate. In a small town such as the one lying close to the Phillips Education Camp for Girls Twelve to Sixteen, crime is apt to take its form from the characters of the inhabitants, and a stolen dog or broken nose is about the maximum to be achieved ordinarily in the sensational line. No one doubted Chief Hook's complete inability to cope with the disappearance of a girl from the camp.

'You say she was going somewhere?' he asked Betsy, having put out his cigar in deference to the camp nurse, and visibly afraid that his questions would sound foolish to Old Jane; since Chief Hook was accustomed to speaking around his cigar, his voice without it was malformed, almost quavering.

("The Missing Girl") ~ Shirley Jackson

The night air moved up towards the Downs, washing over sea and orchard. I breathed it in, and thought that henceforth, loneliness would smell to me like fermenting apples. ~ Laurie R. King

Her screams spiraled up into the night air ~ Holly Black

Yesterday in Florida, President Obama kissed a woman on the cheek after she told him he looks good. Which explains why last night, Michelle made him sleep on Air Mattress One. ~ Jimmy Fallon

Some of the apparitions that emerged from the shadows of doorways and alleys were incomplete, manifesting in full only as they reached the light of the kiosk. An empty dress floated through the night air as if it had become detached from a clothesline by some persistent breeze. As it drifted slowly toward the subway, translucent hands and ankles became visible. A bicycle rolled across the courtyard, chain squeaking softly, a pair of black slacks taking form as it entered the glow of the kiosk lamps. ~ C.D. Sweitzer

Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal."
"Reznak? Why should I fear him?" Dany rose from the pool. Water trickled down her legs, and gooseflesh covered her arms in the cool night air. "If you have some warning for me, speak plainly. What do you want of me, Quaithe?"
Moonlight shown in the woman's eyes. "To show you the way."
"I remember the way. I go north to go south, east to go west, back to go forward. And to touch the light I have to pass beneath the shadow." She squeezed the water from her silvery hair. "I am half-sick of riddling. In Qarth I was a beggar, but here I am a queen. I command you-"
"Daenerys. Remember the Undying. Remember who you are."
"The blood of the dragon." But my dragons are roaring in the darkness. "I remember the Undying. Child of three, they called me. Three mounts they promised me, three fires, and three treasons. One for blood and one for gold and one for . . ."
"Your Grace?" Missandei stood in the door of the queen's bedchamber, a lantern in her hand. "Who are you talking to?"
Dany glanced back toward the persimmon tree. There was no woman there. No hooded robe, no lacquer mask, no Quaithe.
A shadow. A Memory. No one. ~ George R.R. Martin

The strident chimes of prayer bells from the distant temple resonated in the night air with ritual insistence, and nudged Kamala from her repose. What had once sounded to her like a sharp and persistent call to prayer now, with ceaseless repetition, mellowed to become plaintive and wistful, like one's favourite recording playing in the background to the syncopated percussion of lovemaking. (From the novel Blood & Nemesis by Ben Antao). ~ Ben Antao

In until ten, not even on Mardi Gras nights. No one except the girl in the black silk dress, the thin little girl with the short, soft dark hair that fell in a curtain across her eyes. Christian always wanted to brush it away from her face, to feel it trickle through his fingers like rain. Tonight, as usual, she slipped in at nine-thirty and looked around for the friends who were never there. The wind blew the French Quarter in behind her, the night air rippling warm down Chartres Street as it slipped away toward the river, smelling of spice and fried oysters and whiskey and the dust of ancient bones stolen and violated. ~ Poppy Z. Brite

The night air was soft, and laden with the redolence of impending blossoms. The sky unfolded and lit up the earth in jubilation. Welcome Spring ! ~ Meeta Ahluwalia

Excerpted From Chapter One
I decided staying put in the alley was preferable to keeping the dead guy company, so I went outside and lit a Lucky Strike. The night air had gotten damper and chillier during the short time I was in the warehouse, or maybe it was just me.
Wisps of lacy fog were now sinking into the alley, and a skulking cat in search of dinner moved slowly along the opposite wall until he noticed me. He scurried off in a furry blur, eager to be far away from the evil invading his domain. The cat had better sense than me and I wished I could follow his example. ~ H.P. Oliver

In the warm night air, everything seemed warm to Rishi, which led to the logical conclusion that BT would probably be warm too, which suggested the polite course of action of helping BT out of his clothes. ~ Shukyou

Michael might have become a vampire, but watching him stand outside in the night air, breathing in his freedom Claire thought that was as human as it could get. ~ Rachel Caine

Because the air had smelled so sweet, and the sky had been black velvet, spangled with points of diamond light that didn't flicker at all, only burned constant and cold. Because the grass had been wet with dew, and the trees had been heavy with fruit. Because she had wanted to know what was at the end of the long path between the trees, and because she hadn't wanted to turn back before she understood everything. Because for the first time in forever, she'd felt like she was going home, and that feeling had been enough to move her feet, slowly at first, and then faster, and faster, until she had been running through the clean night air, and nothing else mattered, or would ever matter again. ~ Seanan McGuire

She slipped into the shadows and waited, like a she-wolf, for her quarry.
Bay caught her breath when Owen Blackthorne stepped into the cool night air. He was close enough to touch. His shaggy black hair looked rumpled, as though he'd shoved both hands through it in agitation. When he started to move off the porch, Bay reached out and grasped his sleeve.
A second later she was slammed back against the wall, a powerful male hand at her throat choking her. She could feel the heat of him, the solid maleness of him. And panicked. She clawed at Owen's flesh with her nails and drove her knee upward toward his genitals. Her thrust her upraised knee aside, and the full weight of his over-six-foot frame shoved hard against her from shoulders to thighs.
Bay froze, staring up at him in mute horror. Her body trembled in shock. She tried to speak, but there was no air to be had beneath the crushing pressure of his grip on her throat.
"What the hell . . .?" He released her throat and grabbed her arms to yank her into the narrow stream of light from the kitchen doorway.
She gasped a breath of air, coughed, then gasped another, pressing a shaky hand to her injured throat. She wrenched to free herself, but he let her go without a struggle and took a wary step back. She rubbed her arms where he'd held her, wishing she'd approached him more directly.
"What are you doing out here, Mizz Creed?" His voice was clipped but controlled. The violence she'd felt in his touc ~ Joan Johnston