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“SUN, MOON, AND STARRY SKY

Early summer evenings, when the first stars come out, the warm glow of sunset still stains the rim of the western sky.

Sometimes, the moon is also visible, a pale white slice, while the sun tarries.

Just think -- all the celestial lights are present at the same time!

These are moments of wonder -- see them and remember.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“The evenings are meant for deep reflection.”
― Avijeet Das

“So what is it about evenings that makes you pensive and thoughtful? Is it the slightly wafting cold breeze that beckons you on a journey of soulful serenity? A cornucopia of feelings, emotions and nostalgic charm that reverberate into the mystic beats of a faraway drum.”
― Avijeet Das

“Don’t I remember those rustic evenings, now
buried under a thick shawl of futile memories
when you and I, walked and talked
and melted into the lurid nightfall?
I do.”
― Abhijit Sarmah, The Voice Under Silence: Poems

“When the twilight of all my evenings reaches me, after a long dark day, my complicated thoughts suffocate inside all of my uncomplicated longings.

Evenings refuse to end. And the dawns that constantly swallow up my nights, always shows me an extremely long road I still need to tread, and discover.

And get hurt.”
― Khadija Rupa

“When she tell you that it does not matter to her how you spent your evenings know that it certainly does.
Women are sentimental in that way and they want to know how you spent your evening and with whom.

And whether you thought about them and missed them.”
― Avijeet Das

“When she tells you that it does not matter to her how you spent your evening know that it certainly does. Women are sentimental in that way and they want to know how you spent your evening and with whom.

And whether you thought about them and missed them.”
― Avijeet Das

“Evening is a bright blessed morning in another dimension.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson, The Oneironaut’s Diary

“She sighed and walked over to the tall windows peering into the gloominess of smokefall. A thin scrim of fog huddled against the hills and the moon winked half-lidded in the murky sky that had merged with the horizon. The fire crackled for attention and she swerved to gaze at its throbbing
red-orange wood-heart that held a million days of sunlight.”
― Franciska Soares, They Whisper in my Blood