James Turrell Quotes

It's like being a bird, maybe, the perspective of flying over the Earth.

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 see nothing in space as promising as the view from a Ferris wheel.

To see the Earth below you when we could take a break... to appreciate the environment around us was very special.

After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And touching all the darksome woods with light, Smiles on the fields until they laugh and sing, Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring, Drops down into the night.

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.

I collect my tools: sight, smell, touch, taste, hearing, intellect. Night has fallen.

Night is falling: at dusk, you must have good eyesight to be able to tell the Good Lord from the Devil.

I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on, The windows and the stars illumined, one by one, The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily, And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass; And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass, I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight, And build me stately palaces by candlelight.

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

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.

Night falls fast. Today is the past.

Silence is like nightfall. Objects are lost in it insensibly.

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

Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

Oh each successive night that comes has something in it of an abandoned ember that is slowly burning out, and it falls swathed in ruins, surrounded by funereal objects.

It's hard to tell / if we close our eyes or if night / opens in us other starred eyes, / if it burrows into the wall of our dream / till some other door opens. / But the dream is only the flitting costume of one moment, / is spent in one beat / of the darkness, / and falls at our feet, cast off / as the day stirs and sails away with us.

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

Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dak trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more the prettiness.

So dear night the half of life is, And the fairest half indeed.

At the moment they vanished they were everywhere, the cool benediction of the night descended, the stars sparkled, and the whole universe was a hill.

My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.

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.

The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day's last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.