Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fled the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the morning sun.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.
Man dies of cold, not of darkness.
Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.
A day without sunshine is like, you know, night.
From the night, his solitude, the poet finds day and starts a diary that is lethal to the inert. The dark landscape yields a dialogue.
Night is the mother of thoughts.
Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
Night comes to the desert all at once, as if someone turned off the light.
The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.
One may not reach the dawn save by the path of the night.