howl

After that, he tried to go upstairs through the broom cupboard, and then the yard. This seemed to puzzle him a little. But finally he discovered the stairs, all except the bottom on, and fell up them on his face. The whole castle shook.

People are born in the past,... most people will say that they are living in the present?! But it's not possible, just saying "I'm living in the present", there is milliseconds like 1.,2.,3.,4.,5 and seconds which are 1..,2..,3..,4..,5..,6..,7... so you probably won't live in the present even and in now... YOu live in "Bowl" let's said it??Or I will call it like this, you die in the future... what's now is the future you have died there or will die!

And Esme remembered in a rush--the wolfsong, the haunting, lyrical spirals of it in the dawn quiet and the feeling of euphoria that had attended it. Even in recollection the howling uplifted her like the crescendo at the end of a symphony and made her heartbeat quicken.

This is an ode to life.The anthem of the world.For as there are billionsof different stars thatmake up the skyso, too, are there billions of different humans thatmake up the Earth.Some shine brighter but all are made ofthe same cosmic dust.O the joy of beingin life with all these people!I speak of differencesbecause they are there.Like the different organsthat make up our bodies.Earth, itself, is one large body.Listen to how it howlswhen one human isin misery.When one kills another, the Earth feels the pang in itschest. When one orgasms, the Earth craves a cigarette.Look carefully,these animals are beauty spots that make the Earth__ face lovelier and more loveable.These oceans are the Earth__ limpid eyes. These trees, its hair.This is an ode to life.The anthem of the world.I will no longer speak of differences, for the similaritiesare larger. Look even closer. There may bedistances between our limbs butthere are no spaces betweenour hearts. We long to be one.We long to be in nature andto run wild with its wildlife.Let us celebrate life and living, for it is sacrilegious to be ungrateful.Let us play and be playful, for it is sacrilegiousto be serious.Let us celebrate imperfectionsand make existenceproud of us, for tomorrow isdeath, and this is an ode to life. The anthem of the world.

Occasionally you can hear her howl, when the sky is black and the moon is full.

Generally speaking, a howling wilderness does not howl: it is the imagination of the traveler that does the howling.

I respect anyone who has to fight and howl for his decency.

Who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Spacethrough images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame

Me, Tarzan. You, Jane. I kill bad guy. Beat chest. Tarzan howl.

I wasn't lying when I said I'd follow you out of this place. I just can't figure out why you want to take me with you.

We are not on our fours, howling in the woods, only because guilt saves us.

Hot, bright heat filled him like some ecstatic poison, and Hartan's pony shied in terror as a wordless howl burst from his throat. His dripping ears were flat to his skull, fire crackled in his brown eyes, his huge sword blurred in a whirring figure eight before him, and the brigand running at him gawked in sudden panic. The raider's feet skidded in mud as he tried to brake, but it was far too late. He was face-to-face with the worst nightmare of any Norfressan, a Horse Stealer hradani in the grip of the Rage, and a thunderbolt of steel split him from crown to navel.

And now, my poor old woman, why are you crying so bitterly? It is autumn. The leaves are falling from the trees like burning tears- the wind howls. Why must you mimic them?

Hold back the edges of your gown, Ladies, we are going through hell.

Nothing is ever as simple as it seems. At the edge of perception, weird things dance and howl.

in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

To write,_ Marguerite Duras remarked, __s also not to speak. It is to keep silent. It is to howl noiselessly.