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. РAntoine de Saint-Exup̩ry

Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, “Where have I gone wrong?” Then a voice says to me, “This is going to take more than one night.” – Charles M. Schulz

Night is the blotting paper for many sorrows. – Author Unknown

It was a night so beautiful that your soul seemed hardly able to bear the prison of the body. – W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon and Sixpence, 1919