David Wroblewski Quotes

It was early evening when they walked outside, the sky the color of pink lemonade.

The approach of night The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.

Softly the evening came /with the sunset/.

Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloud cover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because it’s heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes. Wool blanket.

The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.

Fading light buttered the ridges until shadows licked them clean and they were lost to nightfall.

The whisper of the dusk is night shedding its husk.

The sky slowly pulled up its blue dress to reveal night.

The sun was a toddler insistently refusing to go to bed: It was past eight thirty and still light.

I’ve always felt that night doesn’t fall. Night rises.

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

Sunset is the saddest light there is.

The dusk was performing its customary intransitive operation of "gathering".

After the sunset on the prairie, there are only the stars

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

Outside, daylight was bleeding slowly toward dusk.

The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.

The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!

It's not dark yet But it's getting there

The sun was slowly setting in the west, casting golden beams of light into the somber old room.

Twilight fell: The sky turned to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars.

Why is it called 'after dark' when it really is 'after light'?

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.

Night had come on like the closing of a great but gentle eye.