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

Twilight drops her curtain down, and pins it with a star. – Lucy Maud Montgomery

[I]t seemed as if the streets were absorbed by the sky, and the night were all in the air. – Charles Dickens, David Copperfield