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

How magnificent the city is by the June moonlight! — after the streets are empty and silent. – Byron Caldwell Smith, letter to Kate Stephens