Quotes About Wail

Only the long melancholy call to prayer, or the wail of women over the dead, or the barking of dogs, breaks the silence which at sunset falls as a pall over Baghdad.

Wail, wail, screech, wail, howl, honk, squeak went the bagpipes, increasing the Captain's already considerable pleasure at the thought that any moment now they might stop. That was something he looked forward to as well.

Wail, wail, screech, wail, honk, honk, squeak went the bagpipes, increasing the captain's already considerable pleasure at the thought that any moment now they might stop.

And men my prophet wail deride!

P33- the wail of the living had answered the call of universal motherhood within her wild beast which the dead could not still.

Nobody made the sign of the cross, indicating that this was entirely a Protestant gathering. Nobody cried or wailed, indicating that it was entirely non-Irish.

That's Delhi. When life gets too much for you all you need to do is to spend an hour at Nigambodh Ghat,watch the dead being put to flames and hear their kin wail for them. Then come home and down a couple of pegs of whisky. In Delhi, death and drink make life worth living

Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon, For, wander and wail as he would, The pure cold light in the sky Troubled his animal blood.

I'm a lost soul. We do wail.

I just finished an episode of a new show called 'Century City.' It's like 'Law & Order' set in the future, and I have a very dramatic role in that. I have to sob and weep and wail. It was very hard. When it was done, I was like, 'OK, time to watch 'SpongeBob!'

Dem a loot, dem a shoot, dem a wailA Shanty TownDem rude boys out on probationA Shanty TownDem a rude when dem come up to townA Shanty Town

I'm a lost soul. We do wail.

Life is nothing but an occassional burst of laughter rising above the interminable wail of grief.

The hushed winds wail with feeble moan Like infant charity.

And so we sat there in the sickening sillage of the truth, neither of us angry, or upset, just muddling through this shared sorrow, this collective pity. And as much as I wanted to sound my tragic wail over the rooftops, and let go of the day, and crawl back toward that safe harbor, and give in to the dying of the light, and to do all of those unheroically injured things that people never write poems about, I didn't.

Not a cute little whimper. Not a plaintive little wail. A full-throated, piercing "This Woman Has Kidnapped Me, Call the Cops scream.

Sung sirens, sliding through the streets, streaking blue light from distress to distress, the slow wail weaving urgency through the darkest of the dark hours, a lament lifted high, held above the rooftops and fading away, lifted high, flashing past, fading away.

Mould's almost wordless vocals were a direct descendant of John Lennon's primal scream approach, only ten times as horrific; cathartic, ultimately life-affirming, his bloodcurdling howls were as direct, honest, and arresting as an infant's wail. Starting

Mould's almost wordless vocals were a direct descendant of John Lennon's primal scream approach, only ten times as horrific; cathartic, ultimately life-affirming, his bloodcurdling howls were as direct, honest, and arresting as an infant's wail.

Grief was a silenced wail that had no beginning or end, just a long, agonizing middle.

She had wailed loudly enough to wake the dead and make them call the cops.

And men my prophet wail deride!

And so we weep for the fallen. We weep for those yet to fall, and in war the screams are loud and harsh and in peace the wail is so drawn-out we tell ourselves we hear nothing.

And so we weep for the fallen. We weep for those yet to fall, and in war the screams are loud and harsh and in peace the wail is so drawn-out we tell ourselves we hear nothin