Nighttime Beauty Quotes

“She drifted down the walk carelessly for a moment, stunned by the night. The moon had come out, and though not dramatically full or a perfect crescent, its three quarters were bright enough to turn the fog and dew and all that had the power to shimmer a bright silver, and everything else- the metal of the streetlamps, the gates, the cracks in the cobbles- a velvety black.
After a moment Wendy recovered from the strange beauty and remembered why she was there. She padded into the street before she could rethink anything and pulled up her hood. "Why didn't I do this earlier?" she marveled. Sneaking out when she wasn't supposed to was its own kind of adventure, its own kind of magic. London was beautiful. It felt like she had the whole city to herself except for a stray cat or two.
Despite never venturing beyond the neighborhood much by herself, she had plenty of time with maps, studying them for someday adventures. And as all roads lead to Rome, so too do all the major thoroughfares wind up at the Thames. Names like Vauxhall and Victoria (and Horseferry) sprang from her brain as clearly as if there had been signs in the sky pointing the way.
Besides Lost Boys and pirates, Wendy had occasionally terrified her brothers with stories about Springheel Jack and the half-animal orphan children with catlike eyes who roamed the streets at night. As the minutes wore on she felt her initial bravery dissipate and terror slowly creep down her neck- along with the fog, which was also somehow finding its way under her coat, chilling her to her core.
"If I'm not careful I'm liable to catch a terrible head cold! Perhaps that's really why people don't adventure out in London at night," she told herself sternly, chasing away thoughts of crazed, dagger-wielding murderers with a vision of ugly red runny noses and cod-liver oil.
But was it safer to walk down the middle of the street, far from shadowed corners where villains might lurk? Being exposed out in the open meant she would be more easily seen by police or other do-gooders who would try to escort her home.
"My mother is sick and requires this one particular tonic that can only be obtained from the chemist across town," she practiced. "A nasty decoction of elderberries and slippery elm, but it does such wonders for your throat. No one else has it. And do you know how hard it is to call for a cab this time of night? In this part of town? That's the crime, really."
In less time than she imagined it would take, Wendy arrived at a promenade that overlooked the mighty Thames. She had never seen it from that particular angle before or at that time of night. On either bank, windows of all the more important buildings glowed with candles or gas lamps or even electric lights behind their icy panes, little tiny yellow auras that lifted her heart.
"I do wish I had done this before," she breathed.
Maybe if she had, then things wouldn't have come to this...”
― Liz Braswell, Straight On Till Morning

“As Yarrow slept and the moon rose high in the sky, a breeze rustled through stalks of onyx-hued basil and deep gray sage, tall as sunflowers. Starlight fell in slants across petals of black violets. A night-dark strawberry rolled across the ground. A plum-colored tomato fell from its stem. Borage and pansies and nasturtium in varying shades of black and gray turned the darkness into its own kind of rainbow.
Beneath the soil lurked something even darker. Generations of pain saturated the earth, fed each stem and fruit and flower. In the soft, thick leaves of sage: loss. In the blackened basil: broken hearts. Tucked inside the husks of charcoal corn: anger and betrayal. Trapped within the bell of burgundy calla lilies: stolen innocence.”
― Liz Parker, In the Shadow Garden

“The flickering flames serve a fair match for the sun as the golden globe dips low behind Dove Mountain.
In response the earth sings out in passionate notes, morphing from a timid silence into an aria of melon, tangerine, and pomegranate. Foraging bats add their faint, rhythmic clicks, and my heart hums in response.”
― Julie Cantrell, Perennials

“The hour was late, the beauty around him barbarous. The many scents brought by the air were toxic or sweet, depending on which way the gentle breeze blew. Sometimes the scents made his nostrils smart. He allowed them to embrace him. Joys of a wonderful nature arose in his heart. He loved his horse, its easy amble, the seductive night and the prying moon. God created the world, the wild, the horse, the breeze, man, birds and - love, and His consort at times agreed and at others did not. Gods played games. Even Gods played games. They fought too. Name a game that does not involve discord. He smiled at the thought.”
― Mukta Singh-Zocchi, The Thugs & a Courtesan

“I listened as the insects began to hum from the oasis, loud even from the distance we were at. The stars began to wink and blink above us as the last vestiges of sunlight slipped behind the horizon. A desert wolf sent up a howl, its pack answering it with feral glee at the moon’s appearance. It was magical, the coming together of day and night, a complicated dance of light and dark. Small and large, everything seemed to be awake at twilight, praising Nicar for another day—whether rising to enjoy the night, or bedding down to rest.”
― Anna Augustine, By the Sun and Stars