Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Whelms. 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 Whelms Quotes And Sayings by 88 Authors including Lev Grossman,William Shakespeare,Marge Piercy,John Heywood,Washington Irving for you to enjoy and share.
The thick plottens.
Tears shall drown the wind
What a richly colored strong warm coat is woven when love is the warp and work is the woof.
Small pitchers have wyde eares.
The moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screechowl.
Mawwage. Mawwage is what bwings us together today.
Whining is not only graceless, but can be dangerous. It can alert a brute that a victim is in the neighborhood.
A Wrackspurt ... They're invisible. They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," she said. "I thought I felt one zooming around in here.
O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles? How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.
Whittle was an amazing chap. Tiny, stubborn, unstoppable - jet-propelled! It's amazing the impact his invention has had upon the world.
Kaethe Schwehn's poignant memoir explores longing, both spiritual and physical, community and faith, in prose that is calm, lovely, and filled with clear-eyed honesty and grace. Tailings is simply an exquisite book.
Reign of blows cascading down upon your shoulders Far too many men dressed up as soldiers The lamb is brought to the ground Under the weight of the Crown A crown of thorns and dark deeds The swastika and the hammer and sickle Are symbols that reap only weeds
I'm a wuss - a complete wuss!
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.
Mr Warty's face swelled up like a puffer fish - all his whiskers standing straight out like poison spikes.
It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.
Sorry," I mumbled.
"Maybe you're hungry," said Zoya. "I always get mean when I'm hungry."
"Are you hungry all the time?" asked Harshaw.
"You haven't seen me mean. When you do, you'll require a very big hanky."
He snorted. "To dry my tears?"
"To stanch the bleeding.
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales.
A Waft of Cheese
bloweth where it listeth,
Here," he said,holding out a dark mink coat. "Thought you might be cold."
"Where did you-"
"I yoinked it off a broad coming home from the market back there.Don't worry,she had enough natural padding already."
"Bill!"
"Hey,you needed it!" He shrugged. "Wear it in good health.
Tonstant Weader fwowed up.
Hw Cumming is also on Goodreads as H.W. Cumming
For raging wind blows up incessant showers
Let the winds blow! a fiercer gale
Is wild within me! what may quell
That sullen tempest? I must sail
Whither, O whither, who can tell!
O! how shall summer's honey breath hold out, / Against the wrackful siege of battering days?
On turf and curb and bower-roof
The snow-storm spreads its ivory woof;
It paves with pearl the garden-walk;
And lovingly around the tatter'd stalk
And snivering stem its magic weaves
A mantle fair as lily-leaves.
Into the wikeawades warld from sleep we are passing.
Rewrite your tale of woe as a tale of wow
The wold was full of us, the leftovers and the leavers, the bereaved and the broken.
Wailing and lamentation befit those who stand before the throne of life and depart without leaving in its hands a drop of the sweat of their brows or the blood of their hearts.
howling alternately
Would you like a little Sheesh with that Whine?
What Comfort can the Vortices of Descartes give to a Man who has Whirlwinds in his bowels!
a heavy, hooded wool
Grey morning dulled the bay. Banks of clouds, Howth just one more bank, rolled to sea, where other Howths grumbled to greet them. Swollen spumeless tide. Heads that bobbed like floating gulls and gulls that floating bobbed like heads. Two heads. At swim, two boys.
For I am come a whirlwind of wasted things
and I will ride this tantrum back to God
Our wyrds - our fates
The world brought me to my knees, what have you brung you?
Roads are wet where'er one wendeth, And with rain the thistle bendeth, And the brook cries like a child! Not a rainbow shines to cheer us; Ah! the sun comes never near us, And the heavens look dark and wile.
Loud wind, strong wind, sweeping o'er the mountains,
Fresh wind, free wind, blowing from the sea,
Pour forth thy vials like streams from airy mountains,
Draughts of life to me.
My galligaskins, that have long withstood The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, By time subdued (what will not time subdue!), A horrid chasm disclosed.
I fink it is a femuw. A femuw of a winowcowus ... A a-stinct winocowus.
Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.
The earth is convulsed with a universal sob, and the roads are muddy with tears. But I do not call to mind a more touching picture of unavailing misery and ruin, and hopeless chaos, than the plug hat that has endeavored to keep sober and maintain self-respect while its owner was drunk.
Pools of sorrow. Waves of joy.
[The] whirlwind fife-and-drum of the storm bends the salt marsh grass, disturbs stars in the sky and the star on the steeple; it is a privilege to see so much confusion.
The lazy ox wishes for horse-trappings, and the steed wishes to plough.
[Lat., Optat ephippia bos piger, optat arare caballus.]
The strong>ststrong>illness of the water, the horizon framed by other glass towers and miniature boats drifting in the distrong>ststrong>ance.
Want a little cheese with that whine, maestro?
Rewards, my tender pigpiss.
Mud and rain and wretchedness and blood. Why should jolly soldier-boys complain? God made these before the roofless Flood - Mud and rain.
Let the galled jade wince; our withers are unwrung.
Wery weeny wight, plead for Morandmor! Notre Dame de la Ville, mercy of thy balmheartzyheat!
If the Danes come," he spoke to Wulfhere, "you must let me fight."
"You don't know how to fight."
"Then you must teach me." He slid Serpent-Breath back into the scabbard. "Wessex needs a king who can fight," he said, "instead of pray.
Pompous worm-faced snob-head camel turd.
[On the camel:] When it kneels to be laden it always grumbles, growls and shows resentment, but of this the driver takes no notice. He goes on loading up until the moment when the beast suddenly becomes silent; then he knows that the burden is heavy enough, and nothing more is added.
Apologies are totally inadequate,' shouted Uncle Wattleberry. 'Nothing short of felling you to the earth with an umbrella could possibly atone for the outrage. You are a danger to the whisker-growing public. You have knocked my hat off, pulled my whiskers, and tried to remove my nose.
Storm is hounding me like a hyena around a carcass.
Dr. Wintermute beheld Mrs. Pinchbeck befeathered, beribboned, crinolined, corseted, frizzled, and festooned, though not wasted.
Faces pressed against the pane, full of little, content with sawdust tears.
Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge,
Gold that I never see;
Lie long high snowdrifts in the hedge
That will not shower on me.
Jesus's bloody tears.
Wamblecropt is the most exquisite word in the English language. Say it. Each syllable is intolerably beautiful.
I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
Through the whirlwind, I hear my father's harsh whisper.
I know who you really are. Who will ever want you, Adelina?
My fury heightens. Everyone. They will cower at my feet, and I will make them bleed.
Woe is forerun with woe.
In rebellion against the typical British-type dry flies, I created the Wulff series.
Labor's face is wrinkled with the wind, and swarthy with the sun.
Now gae your wa'sTho'anes as gude As ever happit flesh and blude, Yet part we maunthe case sae hard is, Amang the writers and the bardies That lang they'll brook the auld I trow, Or neibours cry,'Weel brook the new'.
Sweeping from butcher's stalls, dung, guts, and blood,
Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in mud,
Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down the flood.
A pox on all meads!
Come, ye cold winds, at January's call, On whistling wings, and with white flakes bestrew The earth.
The rain's innumerable hooves spatter on the streets and roofs.
A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.
Kind of a wuss? Kind of a wuss? Dude, you are, like, the Duke of Wussendorf. The Earl of Wussheim. In fact, wherever wusses meet and mingle, your name is whispered in hushed, reverent tones.
The hasty bitch bringeth forth blind welps
Grief is put to flight and assuaged by generous draughts.
Outside, the world whistled. The rain was stained.
I have a master's degree in medieval literature. Wyverns - or firedrakes, if you prefer - were once common in European mythology and legends." "But you . . . you're my accountant," Sarah sputtered. "Do you have any idea how many English majors are accountants?" Vivian asked with raised eyebrows.
A great ox stands on my tongue.
contemptuous cough
Waight and measure take away strife.
O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
Groop I implore thee," continued the merciless Vogon, "my foonting turlingdromes.
So was hir jolly whistel wel y-wette.
I'm a poet who can whine in meter
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.
Small unhurt sorrows approach the hospitals
and every day the dead take off a suit of blood.
The architectures of frost,
the lyres and moans that escape the tiny leaves
in autumn, soaking the final slopes,
died out in the blackness of felt hats.
The winds that blow our billions away return burdened with themes of scorn and dispraise.
What airs outblown from ferny dells And clover-bloom and sweet brier smells.
Your Wheezy, sir, your Wheezy - Wheezy who is giving Dobby his sweater!
A Tennyson garden, heavy with scent, languid; the return of the word swoon.
Friedrich's soldiers saw them and started hooting and whistling. "I haven't convinced her yet! Stop carrying on, or she'll run the other way," he said as they stopped at a covered wagon. He plucked a sack from the driver's seat and led Cinderella on toward the front of the house. "What's
Dawn crept over the Downs like a sinister white animal, followed by the snarling cries of a wind eating its way between the black boughs of the thorns. The wind was the furious voice of this sluggish animal light that was baring the dormers and mullions and scullions of Cold Comfort Farm.
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs, Losing both beauty and utility.
WindClan territory
It is that word 'hunny,' my darlings, that marks the first place in The House at Pooh Corner at which Tonstant Weader fwowed up.
Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, the emptiness of ages in his face, and on his back the burden of the world.
A horn of plenty spills from your hands into the starved lives of millions.