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“Before we invented civilization our ancestors lived mainly in the open out under the sky. Before we devised artificial lights and atmospheric pollution and modern forms of nocturnal entertainment we watched the stars. There were practical calendar reasons of course but there was more to it than that. Even today the most jaded city dweller can be unexpectedly moved upon encountering a clear night sky studded with thousands of twinkling stars. When it happens to me after all these years it still takes my breath away.”
― Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space

“The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes.”
― Helen Bevington, When Found, Make a Verse of

“We were hooked when we woke.
We had arms for each other.
But I yearned to resume
My dreams of another.”
― Roman Payne

“There's a great body of people who flower at night, who feel night is their time. Night is the time people truly become individuals, because all the familiar things are dark and done, all the restrictions on freedom are removed. Many artists work at night - it is particularly conducive to creative work.”
― John Crosby

“I sat up in the strange bed fearing it had been a dream, afraid I would never see her again. Not because I wanted anything from her, only her presence. The disappearance of the presence of beauty is the most despairing of events on this time-wheel of ours that rolls onward towards death.”
― Roman Payne, The Basement Trains: A 21st Century Poem

“The twilight seems invidious.It simply can’t let the sun hide away when darkness is just another name for night..”
― Munia Khan

“Sometimes, I am the beast in the darkness. Sometimes, I am the ghost.”
― Heather Durham, Going Feral: Field Notes on Wonder and Wanderlust

“It takes alot of energy to pretend you're fine when you're not. A bit like being in a play that never ends. I get an intermission, but I always have to go back on stage.”
― Chelsea M. Cameron, Nocturnal

“Nocturnal with a love for night, I'd stay up to see sunlight...”
― Donna Lynn Hope

“The blue light of the rising moon fell on the rocks and the scant forest of the taiga, revealing each projecting rock, each tree in a peculiar fashion, different from the way they looked by day. Everything seemed real but different than in the daytime. It was as if the world had a second face, a nocturnal face.”
― Octavio Paz, The Blue Bouquet

“People like me, we’re ants, and rulers are just a big foot looming over us ready to squish us into the dirt. Doesn’t matter whose body the foot is attached to, the purpose is still the same.”
― Maya Motayne, Nocturna

“There is a plant called the ghost pipe, because it is ghostly white, almost blue. Were you to cut open this flower and study it, you'd find no chlorophyll inside. It can grow in the dark, under the cover of fallen leaves and undergrowth in forests, under soil. It doesn't need to photosynthesize, because it is a parasite. It uses fungal networks to suck energy from photosynthesizing trees. Its roots look like clusters of tiny fingers that grope toward and connect with huge white webs of fungus that in turn connect with the thick roots of trees.”
― Claire Kohda, Woman, Eating

“Nocturne

Where are you now,
my poems,
my sleepwalkers?
No mumbles tonight?
Where are you, thirst,
fever, humming tedium?
The sodium streetlights
burr outside my window,
steadfast, unreachable,
little astonishments
lighting the way uphill.
Where are you now,
when I need you most?
It’s late. I’m old.
Come soon, you feral cats
among the dahlias.”
― W. S. Di Piero

“-¿Por qué te vas?- He sentido
que quiere gritar mi pecho,
y en estos valles callados
voy a gritar y no puedo.
Y me dijo: ¿Adónde vas?
Y le dije: Adonde el cielo
esté más alto, y no brillen
sobre mí tantos luceros.
Hundió su mirada negra
allá en los valles desiertos,
y se quedó muda y triste,
vagamente sonriendo.”
― Juan Ramón Jiménez

“After routinely being awakened during the night with chest pains, I was diagnosed with Nocturnal Angina and prescribed nitroglycerin.”
― Steven Magee

“The Sun of a Woman is a Sin to the Night”
― Goitsemang Mvula

“You will clepe a voice.
An open field quotidian
in the nocturnal Venetian blue.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta

“What is nocturnal demolitions?

"When the sun goes down, the buildings go away.”
― Dipti Dhakul