John Ashbery Quotes

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

I like things to have rules, I like order and I like schedules.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

I'm a worker bee, I like to have a schedule, I like to have a place to be, and a time, and a schedule - it just makes sense to me.

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.

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.

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.

Soon evening worked its way into the sky, and the city hunched itself down.

I like to have a regimen. I don't like to be fancy free.

I'm a person who likes habit and knowing what my job is.

I'm a very routine-oriented guy.

I like having a schedule. I tend to be the type of person that thrives on something being regular.

I always wanted to know what I'd face next, even though that was maybe a bit detrimental to spontaneity. Structuring my life and avoiding chaos was more important.

I like to be organized, I like to stick to my schedule. That's how I stay focused.

A child wants some kind of undisrupted routine or rhythm. He seems to want a predictable, orderly world.

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

A schedule broken at will becomes a mere procession of vagaries.

Night wasn't so much falling as sharpening its claws.

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.

The whisper of the dusk is night shedding its husk.

Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour.

The rich fruit of spontaneity grows in the garden that is well tended by the discipline of schedule.

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