Patricia Highsmith Quotes

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.

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.

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

the redness had seeped from the day and night was arranging herself around us. Cooling things down, staining and dyeing the evening purple and blue black.

Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

A large drop of sun lingered on the horizon and then dripped over and was gone, and the sky was brilliant over the spot where it had gone, and a torn cloud, like a bloody rag, hung over the spot of its going. And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon, and darkness crept over the land from the east.

Twilight drops her curtain down, and pins it with a star.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

Night falls fast. Today is in the past. Blown from the dark hill hither to my door Three flakes, then four Arrive, then many more.

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.

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

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud And goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud At what has happened. Birds, at least must know It is the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in her breast, One bird begins to close a faded eye; Or overtaken too far from his nest, Hurrying low above the grove, some waif Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe! Now let the night be dark for all of me. Let the night be too dark for me to see Into the future. Let what will be, be.

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

The sun was set; the night came on apace, And falling dews bewet around the place; The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings, And the hoarse owl his woeful dirges sings.

The sun was already declining and each of the trees held a premonition of night.

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 falls fast. Today is the past.

The whisper of the dusk is night shedding its husk.

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

We stay this way until twilight colours the window and the hour calls me home

The sacred lamp of day Now dipt in Western clouds his parting day.

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

The longest Day hath an Eueninge.

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

I hate to see the evening sun go down.