Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Wails. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Wails Quotes And Sayings by 86 Authors including Herman Melville,John Lennon,Percy Bysshe Shelley,J.r.r. Tolkien,Nova Ren Suma for you to enjoy and share.
In our man-of-war world, Life comes in at one gangway and Death goes overboard at the other. Under the man-of-war scourge, cursesmix with tears; and the sigh and the sob furnish the bass to the shrill octave of those who laugh to drown buried griefs of their own.
Pools of sorrow. Waves of joy.
Rough wind, the moanest loud Grief too sad for song; Wild wind, when sullen cloud Knells all the night long; Sad storm, whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches strain, Deep caves and dreary main, Wail, for the world's wrong!
Wraiths! Wraiths on wings!
We made the noise of savage animals, of men.
In this cry of pain the inner consciousness of the people seems to lay itself bare for an instant, and to reveal the mood of beings who feel their isolation in the face of a universe that wars on them with winds and seas.
impinged on the normal nightly Holcomb noises - on the keening hysteria of coyotes, the dry scrape of scuttling tumbleweed, the racing, receding wail of locomotive
Jacqueline and Jillian, who were crying for some of the many reasons that babies cry - they were cold, they were distressed, they were offended by the existence of gravity - continued to wail.
Wilds whisper, yet I long for their roar.
Women who have been disappeared by violence are howling. The voices of disappeared women are echoing. I sing with these voices.
There are three waies, the Vniversities, the Sea, the Court.
They tire of quiet, that have known the storm
Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
Tears are words waiting to be spoken
I felt for the tormented whirlwinds
Damned for their carnal sins
Committed when they let their passions rule their reason.
Winning isn't as sweet if you don't see an enemy cry. But remember, losers wail loud no matter what.
Few of us will forget the wail of mingled grief, rage and horror which rose from the camp when the Indians returned to it and recognized their slaughtered warriors, women, and children.
I hear the howl of the wind that brings
The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
The long-drawn, wavering howl has, for all its fearful resonance, some inherent sadness in it, as if the beasts would love to be less beastly if only they knew how and never cease to mourn their own condition.
Myriad laughter of the ocean waves.
She had wailed loudly enough to wake the dead and make them call the cops.
Like a bellowing beast, he howled her name, his raspy wails riding the gales like a ship on a roiling sea.
On the island of tears, we were subjected to every kind of humiliation,
A flock of seagulls rise and swoop above the black profile of the moor, and they are so luminous, so fragile, it would be easy to mistake them for shreds of paper.
screaming as they squeal down a Slip'n Slide
Watch waterfalls of pity roar, you feel to moan but unlike before, you discover that you'd just be one more person crying.
Umbrellas raining upon me, as these cloudy tears give me shelter.
The wind cut like a knife up here, and shrilled in the night like a mother mourning her slain children.
The Cavelries hear and their short and furrie
Umber whunnnn yerrrnnn umber whunnnn fayunnnn These sounds: even in the haze.
Blind wantons like the gulls who scream
And rip the edge off any ideal or dream.
Amid thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
I listened to the whine in my voice with a detached fascination. It was a false question. No answer would have pacified me. I had simply given in to a perverse need to ask, to expose and torment myself, and as soon as I heard the words, I experienced both relief and humiliation.
Scratch a Jew and you'll find a Wailing Wall.
They were the screams of riders torn apart by the twisted reflections of their own inner selves.
We rode on the winds of the rising storm,
We ran to the sounds of the thunder.
We danced among the lightning bolts,
and tore the world asunder.
Whining is not only graceless, but can be dangerous. It can alert a brute that a victim is in the neighborhood.
Would to God these blessed calms would last. But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by warp and woof: calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm.
What the war did to dreamers.
A melancholy sound is in the air,
A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail
Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
We cry survivor to survivor.
Harsh winds, rough seas, still hearts.
Shall we mourn here deedless forever a shadow-folk mist-haunting dropping vain tears in the thankless sea
Woe to the multitude of many people, which make a noise like the noise of the seas; and to the rushing of nations, that make a rushing like the rushing of mighty waters!
Skirts of the unknown, and the white men rushing out of a tumble-down hovel, with great gestures
How silent are the winds!
I will weep and wail for the mountains and take up a lament concerning the desert pastures. They are desolate and untraveled, and the lowing of cattle is not heard. The birds of the air have fled and the animals are gone.
Jimi Hendrix once said, 'You will never hear surf music again.' Well, tonight, you will hear 'serf' music again
S-E-R-F music.
Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds.
They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
These were my people: the abandoned, the unloved, the phenomenally unlucky.
When the wind carries a cry which is meaningful to human ears, it is simpler to believe the wind shares with us some part of the emotion of Being than that the mysteries of a hurricane's rising murmur reduce to no more than the random collision of insensate molecules.
As if, within their high-pitched cries and songs, there are coded threats. 'Sometimes you get what you want and sometimes you get what you need and sometimes you get what you get.' Extract
So loud was the wailing of the women and children that there was not one man among us whose heart did not bleed at the sound ...
UPON FACES ANGEL TEARS ... YOUR VOICES IN OUR EARS
rainbows apologizing for angry skies
The masses do not see the Sirens. They do not hear songs in the air. Blind, deaf, stooping, they pull at their oars in the hold of the earth. But the more select, the captains, harken to a Siren within them ... and royally squander their lives with her.
They're gonna get us', she cried as he tried to hold her tight. She was like a wild animal fighting to escape. 'They come in the storm!'
Fighting for its life.
'They come in the storm!
I can hear your whisper and distant mutter. I can smell your damp on the breeze and in the sky I see the halo of your violence. Storm I know you are coming.
Seas are the fields of combat for the winds; but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
Two tires fly. Two wail. A bamboo grove, all chopped down From it, warring songs.
Cuddles screamed. It wasn't a braying noise, it was an ear-slapping shriek of pure donkey outrage, like someone got hold of a foghorn and tried to strangle it.
You were crying. It's a terrible thing, loving the sea."
"Yes," she whispered, her eyes straying to it. Waves gathered and broke invisibly in the dark, reaching toward her, pulling back. They were never silent, they never spoke.
No ONE MENTIONS YOUR TEARS, SADNESS OR SLOW DEATH! BUT, WE FEEL YOUR FALLEN TEARS, YOUR BEHEADED BODIES, YOUR RAPED DIGNITY!
I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only givest Me cause to wail but teachest me the way How to lament the cause.
What the war did to the dreamers.
The wind had its arms around them. The sea dandled them on its knee.
Mud and rain and wretchedness and blood. Why should jolly soldier-boys complain? God made these before the roofless Flood - Mud and rain.
commotion and flurry.
It is my duty to voice the sufferings of humankind, the never-ending sufferings heaped mountain high. This is my task, but it is not an easy one to fulfill.
The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
My sounds [crying] were small and muffled but obvious. No one paid any attention. It was the way we had become. In a world full of sorrows, this was only one more.
The wind sounded of Mother Earth's forsaken and abandoned cries.
Tears Are For The Living
A city of unarmed dreamers huddling beneath angry skies.
You mar our labour: keep your cabins:you do assist the storm[ ... ] What cares these roarers for the name of king?
Woe is forerun with woe.
There's a lamentation in the flutter of your lash.
The legends lie cradled in the seagulls call, and the promise they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
These are they whose youth was violently severed by war and death; a word on the telephone, a scribbled line on paper, and their future ceased. They have built up their lives again, but their safety is not absolute, their fortress not impregnable.
There seeps from heavily jowled or hawk-like foreign faces
The guttural sorrow of the refugees.
Noise and activity are the refuges of the bereaved and the guilty.
Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes; They love a train, they tread each other's heel.
Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
Tearless grief bleeds inwardly
Where can we hide in fair weather, we orphans of the storm?
It offends me to the soul to hear a robustious, 9 periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very 10 rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the 11 most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable 12 dumb shows and noise. I
Occasionally I sense an insane wail deep down in the pit, the echo alone reaching me, striking without warning, a child weeping uninhibitedly, imprisoned forever.
Clouds of black birds rose up wailing and screaming, like the thoughts of my heart.
Down below people were clipping by going nowhere fast. You could feel the long despairing history of the place. You could actually hear it, a low hum like the buzz of a sick bee that resonated with the fragments of a million broken dreams.
How can we aid you with our kindred tears?
Oh, let's tell the world we're unheard. We're unsure.We're unstop, we're unstoppable. Oh let's tell the girls to be strong. To be sure. To be heard. We want to be heard.
thinking of us, our struggles and pain, grieves in me a song more dismal than the sparrows' protest to the morning rain
There's no place you can go on the prairie that you don't hear the white noise of the wind, steady and rough as surf curling along a non-existant shore.
We cry for mercy to the next amusement, The next amusement mortgages our fields
All the posters on the walls All the leaflets in the streets Are mutilated, destroyed or run in rain, Their words blotted out with tears, Skins peeling from their bodies In the victorious hurricane.
A puff of wind blew out their skirts, and they looked like two wandering flags.
The wind shrieks, the wind grieves; It dashes the leaves on walls, it whirls then again; And the enormous sleeper vaguely and stupidly dreams And desires to stir, to resist a ghost of pain.
Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.