“I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on,
The windows and the stars illumined, one by one,
The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily,
And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see
The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass;
And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass,
I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight,
And build me stately palaces by candlelight.”
― Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal
“The pale stars were sliding into their places. The whispering of the leaves was almost hushed. All about them it was still and shadowy and sweet. It was that wonderful moment when, for lack of a visible horizon, the not yet darkened world seems infinitely greater—a moment when anything can happen, anything be believed in.”
― Olivia Howard Dunbar, The Shell of Sense
“There’s a special quality to the loneliness of dusk, a melancholy more brooding even than the night’s.”
― Ed Gorman, Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool
“There was a filmy veil of soft dull mist obscuring, but not hiding, all objects, giving them a lilac hue, for the sun had not yet fully set; a robin was singing . The leaves were more gorgeous than ever; the first touch of frost would lay them all low to the ground. Already one or two kept constantly floating down, amber and golden in the low slanting sun-rays.”
― Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South
“Trying to attain the inaccessible might be a pure waste of time. Still, however, the blunt attempt to challenge the ultimate hurdles to reach the untouchable can kindle a glow in the dusk and become a lighting beacon of resilience and throw us out of ourselves into an inspiring fairytale of horizons to nurture our dreams.”
― Erik Pevernagie, Stilling our Mind
“. dusk is the time when men whisper of matters about which they remain silent in the full light of the sun.”
― Simon Raven
Dark and light
vividly etching wild colors
through the horizon.
The charm of sunset
makes me want
to scurry home.”
― Tara Estacaan
“As the station wagon pulled back onto the highway, the sun was slowly sinking below the horizon like a leaky boat. Well, except for that fact that boats are not generally round, orange and on fire. Hmm. Come to think of it, in no way whatsoever did the sun, in this instance, resemble a leaky boat. My apologies. That was a dreadful attempt at simile. Please allow me to try again.
As the station wagon pulled back onto the highway, the sun was slowly sinking below the horizon like a self-luminous, gaseous sphere comprised mainly of of hydrogen and helium.”
― Cuthbert Soup, A Whole Nother Story
“Scarcely has night arrived to undeceive, unfurling her wings of crepe (wings drained even of the glimmer just now dying in the tree-tops); scarcely has the last glint still dancing on the burnished metal heights of the tall towers ceased to fade, like a still glowing coal in a spent brazier, which whitens gradually beneath the ashes, and soon is indistinguishable from the abandoned hearth, than a fearful murmur rises amongst them, their teeth chatter with despair and rage, they hasten and scatter in their dread, finding witches everywhere, and ghosts. It is night. and Hell will gape once more.”
― Charles Nodier, Smarra & Trilby
“The afternoon slipped away while we talked — she talked brightly when any subject came up that interested her — and it was the last hour of day — that grave, still hour when the movement of life seems to droop and falter for a few precious minutes — that brought us the thing I had dreaded silently since my first night in the house.”
― Ellen Glasgow, The Shadowy Third
“Moon in the sky, stars out, the wide-open expanse of nothing: it made him feel free and alive as the daytime never did.”
― Chuck Wendig, Wanderers
“You know that great pause that comes upon things before the dusk, even the breeze stops in the trees. To me there is always an air of expectation about that evening stillness.”
― H.G. Wells , The Time Machine
“There was still an hour or two of daylight – even though clouds admitted only a greyish light upon the world, and his Uncle Timothy’s house was by nature friendly to gloom.
“It’s that time between day and night when the sky looks like it’s on fire and mosquitoes are on the hunt.”
― Angie Thomas, The Hate U Give
“There is a certain quality of light to be found only in midsummer in the South, as day, slipping into dusk, acquiesces to the filament, the bulb, the porch light; this seductive light is beautiful when it washes across dry cement, the sidewalk and stoop. The light spilling from the phone booth softens and cleanses all that it touches. It’s a forgiving and almost protective light. The Minotaur is drawn to it from across the parking lot.”
― Steven Sherrill, The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break
“I was almost sad when we arrived a the squat, white clubhouse. It was halfway to dark by then, with both a moon and a sun sitting high in a sky that was sugar almond pink and shot with gold. The birds were singing valiantly against the coming night, swooping over the greens in long, drunken loops. The air was grassy, with a hint of flowers and earth, and the warm, sweet outbreath of the day sighed gently into our hair and over our skin. I felt like asking Raymond whether we should keep walking, walk over the rolling greens, keep walking till the birds fell silent in their bowers and we could see only by starlight. It almost felt like he might suggest it himself.”
― Gail Honeyman, Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine
“It is Tuesday, near dusk. Night creeps in and strips colors from the scene. Everything is purplish. There have been many Tuesdays in the Minotaur‘s life. He wonders how this one will end.”
― Steven Sherrill, The Minotaur Takes His Own Sweet Time
“If we lose our clocks and watches, the crimson sky of twilight will remind us
of the time of dusk, and the phases of the moon will never fail to
be our monthly adviser.”
― Munia Khan, Attainable
“To mourn the unexpected death
Of a thousand fetuses,
I fire up the yellow dusk,
and watch the time standing motionless.”
― Geeta Tripathee
“We walked back to his revived house in tender silence, the dry gold land freckled with young pines and red flowers.”
― Aspen Matis, Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir
“The cathedral towered over it all, benignly great in this quiet weather, the sound of the bells falling gently from the height of the Rollo tower. At evening, when dusk fell, men looked up and saw light shining from the windows of the choir and heard music, for the choristers were practicing for the carol service. Michael seemed dreaming. So many Christmases had gone since he had stood here looking out to the edge of the world, looking down at the city, looking up to heaven. So many Christmas Eves he had stood waiting through hours of snow and storm, of wind and rain or of rapt stillness bright with moon and stars, waiting for the mid-course of the night when he should lift his fist and strike out on the great bell the hour of man’s redemption.”
― Elizabeth Goudge, The Dean’s Watch
“It was that hour that turns seafarers’ longings homeward- the hour that makes their hearts grow tender upon the day they big sweet friends farewell. ”
― Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio
“Dawn never questions Dusk!
Sprawls upon to bring Sunshine.
Forget what’s gone to Kiss Happiness
& Embrace the Divine!”
― Somya Kedia
“It was approaching dusk. That time between late afternoon and early evening when most of us are adjusting our lights and clothing, appetites and mindsets, to make the transition from the end of the day to the beginning of the night. A time when both sun and moon can share the sky.”
― Marti Healy, The Rhythm of Selby
“As the day drains
out the window, I become more and more
the focus of my own gaze.”
― Emily Pittinos
dusk – quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The dusk comes as a promise of starlight, of those brilliant pearls of the nighttime that sit as if cushioned upon pure black velvet.
Dusk comes to bring us moonlight, to the time of reflection upon the day passed and awaiting day to be renewed by the light of the sun. It is when the birds sing goodnight until the stars bid them to dream under-wing. Each hue deepens in noble solemnity, finding unity in the night.
When the last sun-rays of the day kiss the heathland, when the greens and purples melt into grey under the moonlight, that’s when the warren empties and the rabbits are out to forage and play. They move slowly, lolloping in their ungainly way, grazing as they go. At the slightest noise they’re up on their hind legs, black eyes staring in more directions than we predator animals can. Sometimes I watch them for a while, just because I need to eat, it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate nature. Then I take aim, one bullet, one fat rabbit for stew, job done. They scatter after that and I don’t have the patience to stick around for more. Si keeps telling me to set traps instead, but I like my stake-out ritual, and to be honest, knots have never been my thing.
A movement in the shadows has me frozen; it’s no more than a rustle but in this failing light my heart is on a hair-trigger. More noise comes. I take a step back and pat my pocket for my flick knife, but every one is flat. I crouch low, my lungs rapidly inflating and deflating with sweet rain-scented air. Minutes pass and what was evening is rapidly becoming the night. Without warning a young rabbit darts from the bushes, it’s white under-tail bobbing furiously as it kicks a the springy ground. The rest of his earthen coat just blends into the gloom and in only seconds he is gone, likely already in the warren. I almost laugh, all that for some bunny. I stand, feeling the ache in my legs, stillness and cold are never a good combination.
As the light drains away there is barely enough even for shadows. Whether I like it or not the darkness comes and under it everything in this forest is hidden. Even the stars and moon cower behind a dense layer of cloud, giving the air that tincture I associate with the world before a storm. My ears become sharper and my mind paranoid, every snap of a twig is a predator, even if it is a fawn. For each aroma my brain jumps to the most fearsome thing it could be and my body prepares for flight, fright or freeze. For the most part I just freeze, running will give my position away and I’m not much of a fighter. All I can do is wait while the blackness comes and pray that the dawn is not far behind. So I sit on the damp ground, feeling the frigid water seep into my jeans. My heart can beat all it wants, but this body won’t move until daylight breaks through the canopy above. With hands resting in the soil and my back to an oak, I remain, waiting, breathing.
The daylight had dwindled to a barely perceptible lightening of the gloom. Each wall of concrete was identical to the next without an identifying marker of any kind. Standing in what could be any part of the labyrinth, Jasper realized his folly. He had been so certain he could do better than George, that he would be in and out in half a day or less. There was no reason that left would be better than right, or ahead better than doubling back. He considered sitting until the dawn, but who knows what would come when he was made blind by the night.
Dusk comes sooner than expected, the last of the sun’s rays cosseted behind soft grey cloud. The street takes on the look of an old photograph, every familiar thing a shade of grey. Slowly the view fades to blackness and the night begins. Carey retreats to the front room to the fire that roars in the hearth, pulling a blanket around her. Aside from Tom leaving his chair to stoke the flames the evening passes in amiable silence, each of them content to hear only the crackle of the fire and each other’s steady breathing.
Creative writing dusk
By describing where the events are about to take place, you can transport your reader into another world. Make use of the five senses – sight, hearing, smell, touch and taste – to evoke the atmosphere of the setting.
The following will give you some examples of how you can describe using time as the main element.
The same place can look and feel very different at different times of the day. Take a park, for example. At daybreak, it is cool and invigorating, full of songbirds, walkers and joggers. At midday, it is sleepy, hot and still. In the evening, shadows lengthen and coolness returns. But at night, it can be a frightening place, with dangers lurking in the dark shadows of the foliage.
The sun poured through my window. Another day had dawned, bringing with it new hopes and aspirations.
The light of dawn seeped into my room. I rubbed my bleary eyes and walked to the window. There was a pearly glow in the sky.
The just-risen sun shone softly on the city streets, bringing with it a flurry of early-morning activity.
Tiny specks of dust seemed to dance in the shaft of afternoon sunlight that slanted through the window.
Evening and Night
The evening sun cast long shadows on the ground. The slanting rays of the setting sun gave a warm orange tinge to the sky.
Encourage your child to use these descriptions in the tests and examinations. Help them familiarise with these phrases through simple activities by writing short introductory paragraphs with one or two of the descriptions, or give them short dictation quizzes!
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