The Night in Isla Negra
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And the night shall be filled with music, and the cares, that infest the day, shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, and as silently steal away.
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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.
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O comfort-killing night, image of hell, dim register and notary of shame, black stage for tragedies and murders fell, vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!
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Night's deepest gloom is but a calm; that soothes the weary mind: The labored days restoring balm; the comfort of mankind.
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Shadow owes its birth to light.
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Night is the mother of counsels.
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Shadows fall on even the brightest hours.
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The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in torment.
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Blemishes are hid by night and every fault forgiven; darkness makes any woman fair.
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Whoever thinks of going to bed before twelve o clock is a scoundrel.
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Night brings our troubles to the light, rather than banishes them.
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