Moan Quotes
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My grandmother used to say before you moan about the muck on someone else's glasses make sure you're not on about the muck on your own her glasses were filthy
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More Moan Quotes
He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird.
Percy Bysshe Shelley— St. XLII (Adonais (1821))
All moanday, tearsday, wailsday, thumpsday, frightday, shatterday till the fear of the Law.
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce— Finnegans Wake (1939, p. 301)
I was so lost back then, But with a little help from my friends I found a light in the tunnel at the end. Now you're calling me up on the phone, So you can have a little whine and a moan. And it's only because you're feeling alone.
lily allen— Smile
In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago.
christina rossetti— Christina Rossetti, Mid-Winter (1872), st. 1.
In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter, Long ago.
— 1875 'Mid-Winter'.
Sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, With murmuring of innumerable bees.
Tennyson— 1850 The Princess, pt.7, added song, l.203-7.
The sea, unmated creature, tired and lone,Makes on its desolate sands eternal moan.
frederick William faber— The Sorrowful World, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
Imagine you go awayOn a business trip one dayAnd when you come back homeYour children have grownAnd you never made your wife moan
regina spektor— Ghost Of Corporate Future
The woods were made for the hunter of dreams,The brooks for the fishers of song;To the hunters who hunt for the gunless gameThe streams and the woods belong.There are thoughts that moan from the soul of pineAnd thoughts in a flower bell curled;And the thoughts that are blown with scent of the fernAre as new and as old as the world.
sam walter foss— Sam Walter Foss, Bloodless Sportsman.
We are the voices of the wandering wind, Which moan for rest and rest can never find; Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life, A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.
edwin arnold— The Deva's Song.
I, who loved and knew you, In the city that slew you, Still hunger on, and thirst, and climb, proud-hearted and alone: Serpent-fears enfold me, Syren-visions hold me, And, like a wave, I gather strength, and gathering strength, I moan; Yea, the pale moon beckons, Still I follow, aching, And gather strength, only to make a louder moan, in breaking!
robert williams buchanan— "To David in Heaven", St. 13.
To dwellers in a wood almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature. At the passing of the breeze the fir-trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the holly whistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quiverings; the beech rustles while its flat boughs rise and fall.
thomas hardy— Under the Greenwood Tree (1872), ch. 1.
I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan.
john keats— Stanza V (La Belle Dame sans Merci (1819))
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan Upon the midnight hours
john keats— "Ode to Psyche", st. 3.
They came three thousand miles, and died, To keep the Past upon its throne; Unheard, beyond the ocean tide, Their English mother made her moan.
james russell lowell— Graves of Two English Soldiers on Concord Battleground, st. 3 (1849).
What softer voice is hushed over the dead? Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown? What form leans sadly o'er the white death bed, In mockery of monumental stone, The heavy heart heaving without a moan?
Percy Bysshe Shelley— St. XXXV (Adonais (1821))
The woods were made for the hunter of dreams, The brooks for the fishers of song; To the hunters who hunt for the gunless game The streams and the woods belong. There are thoughts that moan from the soul of pine And thoughts in a flower bell curled; And the thoughts that are blown with scent of the fern Are as new and as old as the world.
sam walter foss— Sam Walter Foss, Bloodless Sportsman.
Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others' pain, And perish in our own.
Francis Thompson— Francis Thompson, Daisy, Stanza 15.
And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
— Alfred Tennyson, Miller's Daughter.
Why does the sea moan evermore? Shut out from heaven it makes its moan, It frets against the boundary shore; All earth's full rivers cannot fill The sea, that drinking thirsteth still.
— Christina G. Rossetti, By the Sea, Stanza 1.
Willow, in thy breezy moan, I can hear a deeper tone; Through thy leaves come whispering low, Faint sweet sounds of long ago Willow, sighing willow!
felicia hemans— Felicia Hemans, Willow Song.
Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.
— Alfred Tennyson, The Princess (1847), Canto VII, line 205
The very voices of the night, sounding like the moan of the tempest, may turn out to be the disguised yet tender voices of God, calling away from all earthly footsteps, to mount with greater singleness of eye and ardor of aim the alone ladder of safety and peace upward, onward, heavenward, homeward.
— John Rose Macduff, p. 431 (Dictionary of Burning Words of Brilliant Writers (1895))
We are the voices of the wandering wind, Which moan for rest and rest can never find; Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life, A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.
— Sir Edwin Arnold (1832 - 1904), "The Deva's Song".
The hushed winds wail with feeble moan Like infant charity.
joanna baillie— Joanna Baillie, Orra (1812), Act III, scene 1, "The Chough and Crow"; in Plays on the Passions, Volume III.
Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased Than when employ'd t' accommodate the fair, Heard the sweet moan of pity, and devised The soft settee; one elbow at each end, And in the midst an elbow it received, United yet divided, twain at once.
william cowper— William Cowper, The Task (1785), Book I, line 71.
