Quotes About Cries

From the perspective of the source, the world is a majestic harmony of forms pouring into being, exploding, and dissolving. But what the swiftly passing creatures experience is a terrible cacophony of battle cries and pain.

Poetry is less a respecter of individual persons than it is a compassionate witness to the meanings of the secret language that beats inside human hearts, the music that pulses through human cries, and the divinity which shines love beyond the veils of human limitations.

Man alone at the very moment of his birth, cast naked upon the naked earth, does she abandon to cries and lamentations.

There are cries in the dark at night As owls answer the moon

My response to these early cries, in other words, is formative. I should do nothing that I don't intend to continue doing, should make no false moves, lest I find myself co-habiting in the months and years to come with the terrible embodiment of my weaknesses, a creature formed from the patchwork of my faults held together by the glue of her own apparently limitless, denatured, monstrous will.

The sky would be full of bodies like wood. There would have been cries of the dead And the living would be speaking, As a self that lives on itself.

Nothing is poorer than a truth expressed as it was thought. Committed to writing in such cases, it is not even a bad photograph. Truth wants to be startled abruptly, at one stroke, from her self-immersion, whether by uproar, music or cries for help.

Johnny was sobbing in shuddering gasps, telling me his small tale of woe, that the world was suddently different, and that he wanted me to make it better, right now please. --Liadan's interpretation of her baby's cries.

What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.

Sin strips all of its prisoners of dignity, divinity, and destiny. Deep within, the soul of every person cries out for freedom, for deliverance. And we serve a God who can hear those cries.

A winner smiles and a looser cries. The God looks at them and says, 'Sorry, guys!

A series of howls and war cries echoed through the camp....The werewolves and Japanese had attacked."-pg.353 Forbidden Nights with a Vampire Kerrelyn Sparks

never boast your dead beauties, mine being unto me sweeter (of whose shy delicious glance things which never more shall be, perfect things of faerie, are intense inhabitants; in whose warm superlative body do distinctly live all sweet cities passed away— in her flesh at break of day are the smells of Nineveh, in her eyes when day is gone are the cries of Babylon.)

Justice divine Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries.

And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.

Men lies about that,Some of 'em cries about that,Some of 'em dies about that,Everybody fightin' about a spoonful,That spoon, that spoon, that.

So many crazed men, so many cries, so much bestial brutality.

The only way to silence the cries is by making no sound at all

A series of howls and war cries echoed through the camp....The werewolves and Japanese had attacked. -pg.353 Forbidden Nights with a Vampire Kerrelyn Sparks

How evil life must be if it were indeed necessary that such imploring cries, such cries of physical and moral wretchedness, should ever and ever ascend to heaven!

Pain is joy when it cries, it's my smile in disguise.

There are voices crying what must be done, a hundred, a thousand voices. But what do they help if one seeks for counsel, for one cries this, and one cries that, and another cries something that is neither this nor that.

Things become quieter, but the cries do not cease. "What's up, Albert?" I ask. "A couple of columns over there got it in the neck." The cries continued. It is not men, they could not cry so terribly. "Wounded horses," says Kat. It's unendurable. It is the moaning of the world, it is the martyred creation, wild with anguish, filled with terror, and groaning.

He lowered the goblet, and looked into it. The black water shifted as his hand trembled, and the surface glittered like the facets of polished stone. The noise of the water as it touched the sides was like the distant cries of the imprisoned.