The evening’s the best part of the day. You’ve done your day’s work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it. Kazuo Ishiguro, the Remains of the Day
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o’clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days. T S Eliot, Preludes, 1917
Above us, along the motorway embankment, the headlamps of the waiting traffic illuminated the evening sky like lanterns hung on the horizon. J G Ballard, Crash p92
There was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie, and Dim, Dim being really dim, and we sat in the Korova Milkbar making up rassoodocks what to do with the evening, a flip dark chill winter bastard though dry. The Korova Milkbar was a milk-plus mesto, and you may, O my brothers, have forgotten what these mestos were like, things changing so skorry these days, and everybody very quick to forget, newspapers not being read much neither. Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange
At half-past six the sun settled down upon the levels, with the aspect of a great forge in the heavens, and presently a monstrous pumpkin-like moon arose on the other hand. The pollard windows, tortured out of their natural shape by incessant choppings, became spiny-haired monsters as they stood up against it. Thomas Hardy, Tess of the d’Urbervilles
Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgundy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries. Jack Kerouac, On the Road