Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Hyperion

I cannot walk through the suburbs in the solitude of the night without thinking that the night pleases us because it suppresses idle details, just as our memory does. – Jorge Luis Borges

To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night. – Paul Simon, “A Poem on the Underground Wall”