Dylan Thomas Quotes

To begin at the beginning: It is a spring moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.

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.

I really love the dark of the night. It helps me to concentrate.

Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

Night gives a black look to everything, whatever it may be.

See, the night doth enfold us! See, all the world lies sleeping!

I only work at night, generally. Usually when I work [during the day] I'll black out the windows or something.

The moon is setand the Pleiades; Middle ofthe night, time passes by,I lie alone.

The night will close the door & fasten my anchor within the veil and I shall go away to sleep.

Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.

Night came walking through Egypt swishing her black dress.

Time moves in it special way in the middle of the night.

Amplified by the still of night, the book opened -- a gust of wind.

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

The first thing he noticed was how quiet it was. This was nothing like the kind of quiet he heard when he woke up in the middle of the night after a bad dream. When that happened, there were always strange, unidentifiable sounds seeping into his room from the tiny gaps where the windowpanes weren't sealed together correctly. At those moments he could always tell there was life outside, even if all that life was fast asleep. It was a silence that wasn't silence at all.

There was no wind; there was no passing shadow on the deep shade of the night; there was no noise. The city lay behind him, lighted here and there, and starry worlds were hidden by the masonry of spire and roof that hardly made out any shapes against the sky. Dark and lonely distance lay around him everywhere, and the clocks were faintly striking two.

The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.

Night, having Sleep, the brother of Death.

Night has patterns that can be read less by the living than by the dead.

I love the night passionately... I love it with all my senses: I love to see it, I love to breathe it in, I love to open my ears to its silence, I love my whole body to be caressed by its blackness.

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown.

He rose and turned toward the lights of town. The tidepools bright as smelterpots among the dark rocks where the phosphorescent seacrabs clambered back. Passing through the salt grass he looked back. The horse had not moved. A ship's light winked in the swells. The colt stood against the horse with its head down and the horse was watching, out there past men's knowing, where the stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea.

I got up and walked back to my roominghouse. The moonlight was bright. My footsteps echoed in the empty street and it sounded as if somebody was following me, I looked around. I was mistaken. I was quite alone.

But some nights, I must tell you, I go down there after everyone has fallen asleep. I swim back and forth in the echoing blackness. I sing a love song as well as I can, lost for a while in the home of the rain.

Darkness promotes speech.