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Quotations about 3:00 AM

Related Quotes      Night      Sleep      Dreams      Morning      Worry

I seldom went to bed before two or three o'clock in the morning, on the theory that if anything of interest were to happen to a young man it would almost certainly happen late at night. ~E. B. White (1899–1985)

Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering — this is an all-weather beatitude for gloom in general and fairly salutory day-time advice for everyone. But at three o'clock in the morning, a forgotten package has the same tragic importance as a death sentence, and the cure doesn't work — in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day. ~F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1936

Three o'clock in the morning. The soft April night is looking in at my windows and caressingly winking at me with its stars. I can't sleep, I am so happy! ~Anton Chekhov (1860–1904), "Love," translated by Constance Garnett, 1931

Much poetry happens in the silence of 3AM. ~Terri Guillemets

Excuse this letter's being like a hotch-potch. It's incoherent, but I can't help it. Sitting in an hotel room one can't write better. Excuse its being long, It's not my fault. My pen ran away with me — besides, I wanted to go on talking to you. It's three o'clock in the night. My hand is tired. The wick of the candle wants snuffing, I can hardly see. ~Anton Chekhov (1860–1904), letter, 1890, translated by Constance Garnett, 1920

Three o'clock! There was a terror in every ash that dropped out of the fire. Florence paced her room and looked out at the moon with a new fancy of her likeness to a pale fugitive hurrying away and hiding her guilty face. ~Charles Dickens, "The Thunderbolt," Dombey and Son, 1846

I would like to find a stew that will give me heartburn immediately, instead of at three o'clock in the morning. ~John Barrymore, unverified

Three A.M. is when
all the quiet things
become loud —
the drip in the sink,
that clock on the wall,
our hearts, our minds.
~Terri Guillemets

There is one ghastly hour, between the midnight and the dawn, an hour through which I have passed again and again, when the veils of seeming and circumstance are stripped away from the soul, and one sees oneself as one is, and not as one appears to the outer world. It is after a first sleep, I think, that these wakeful moments of an over-stimulated consciousness are most overwhelming. On laying our heads upon the pillow at the beginning of night, we are still possessed by images of the cheerful day: soothed by not unflattering intercourse with friends, our souls narcotised, so to speak, by the influences of music, art and literature — "drawing the curtain of our fancy close between us and the coldness of the world." But that first short sleep puts a blank between us and the day. We start straight out of nothingness, and face ourselves. And then we see ourselves indeed. We remember the inexpressible meannesses of which we have been guilty, the base, ignoble deeds, the failures of our will, the weaknesses of our heart, the cowardice, the bitter, ingrained badness of our whole nature, and bad as we are, we stand appalled at the revelation. The anger of God and the contempt of man lie upon us with a weight heavier than we can bear. It seems as if our hearts lay open, naked and ashamed, to the eye of the whole human race. At such moments — not unknown I think, to most of us — we surely suffer something of what is meant by the pains of hell. ~Adeline Sergeant, The Story of a Penitent Soul: Being the Private Papers of Mr. Stephen Dart, Late Minister at Lynnbridge in the County of Lincoln, 1892

three o'clock—
anxiety, regret
in the depths of worry
swept away in the
whirlwind of nothing—
a horrible nothing
~Terri Guillemets, "Insomnia ticking," 2019, blackout poetry created from Octave Mirbeau, The Diary of a Chambermaid, 1891–1900, page 6

The most serious charge which can be brought against New England is not Puritanism, but February... Spring is too far away to comfort even by anticipation, and winter long ago lost the charm of novelty. This is the very three a.m. of the calendar. ~Joseph Wood Krutch

Night speaks a language of shadows and of the soul.  3 AM is poetry translatable only by the moon and stars. ~Terri Guillemets

Page Information:
Original post date 2006 Jan 17
1st major revision 2018 Jan 17
Last saved 2020 Aug 30 Sun 19:29 PDT

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