Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers.
I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.
I loved the excitement and the pleasures of life in New York, the opportunities for advancement, the pursuit of ambition, the theaters, the places of amusement, and such nights as the last I spent with you just as I was leaving for the West.
It’s just that I feel so sad these wonderful nights. I sort of feel they’re never coming again, and I’m not really getting all I could out of them.
I have a stack of those plastic card hotel room keys that I picked up on this latest book tour. It's about a yard tall. Ah yes, a stack of lonely nights.
A travel agent told I could spend 7 nights in HAWAII no days just nights.
My dad was a bartender that worked banquets. So that meant holidays, weekends, nights.
The nights were blinding cold and casket black and the long reach of the morning had a terrible silence to it.
The perfect weather of Indian Summer lengthened and lingered, warm sunny days were followed by brisk nights with Halloween a presentiment in the air.
I miss London on nights in June or in October.
All of the things that people said that I would experience - that idea that you suddenly have this new person in your life that you could love so much and that time will go incredibly quickly, but that the nights will seem incredibly long - all of that has been true, but it has been wonderful.
Some nights, I was so good that I could have become an egotist.
We have shared out, like thieves, the amazing treasures of days and nights.
I DJ very often. I'll probably do it more. I'm not available during the week because of the show but I travel most weekends to DJ. I've been doing it for about six years.
Days, pale slices between nights, they blend, not exactly alike, transparencies so lightly tinted that only stacked all together do they darken to a fatal shade.
