Groans Quotes

A shadow? Oh, darling, all that lives in this house are shadows and reflections and creaks and groans. So you'd better soothe that boundless imagination of yours from now on. Edith ~ Nancy Holder

If I can bring Him nothing but my tears, He will put them with His own tears in His own bottle for He once wept; if I can bring Christ nothing but my groans and sighs, He will accept these as an acceptable sacrifice, for He once was broken in heart, and sighed heavily in spirit. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon

I have no interest at all in food and drink, but only in slaughter and blood and the agonized groans of mangled men ~ Homer

Oh God," she groans.
"Almost." I tell her as I wink and hold my hand out, as if to shake hers. "Most call me Marley. They save the God title for when I'm making their toes curl. ~ Lesley Jones

The assassination of Allende quickly covered over the memory of the Russian invasion of Bohemia, the bloody massacre in Bangladesh caused Allende to be forgotten, the din of war in the Sinai Desert drowned out the groans of Bangladesh, the massacres in Cambodia caused the Sinai to be forgotten, and so on, and on and on, until everyone has completely forgotten everything. ~ Milan Kundera

Jason stood up. "I can do this. I know I can. I think I've actually got something."

"That's the spirit," said Troy. "Go ahead."

Jason nodded and began to speak:

"When I'm feeling down and kind of crazy,
I come down here to the cafeteria lady,
Sloppy joes, burgers, fries and spaghetti,
When I have a problem, she make me forget-ee."

Some groans came from the next table.

"What?" Jason asked, blinking blankly. "What's wrong with that poem?"

"Sorry to break the news," said Chad, "but there's no such word as 'forget-ee', ~ Alice Alfonsi

This could get a little hairy," I tell them in interruption.

Seriously, I don't want to know this secret. I've got too much other shit going on.

I grimace at the very questionable intestines that belong to some fabled creature that surely can't exist under the radar if all that fit inside it. "If you're a respawner instead of an unkillable being, get out of the kitchen and at least a mile from the house."

Mom assured me there's a five mile seclusion radius.

Damien starts speaking to me, almost as though he's too tired to deal with my tinkering right now. "Violet, that potion has to be fresh. There's no need-"
...
There's a loud, bubbling, sizzling noise that cracks through the air, and I drop to the floor, as a pulse shoots from the pot.

Damien yelps, as he and Emit are thrown into one wall, and Mom curses seconds before she and Arion are launched almost into each other, hitting opposing walls instead, when they manage to twist in the air to avoid touching.

Everyone crashes to the ground at almost the same time. Groans and grunts and coughs of pain all ring out in annoyed unison.

"I warned you," I call out, even as most of them narrow their eyes in my direction.

Damien shoots me a look of exasperation, and I shrug a shoulder.

"She did warn us," Mom grumbles as she remains lying on the floor, while everyone else pushes to their feet.

"No one fucks up a potion ~ Kristy Cunning

May the day of my birth perish. May it turn to darkness. May God above not care about it. May no light shine on it. May gloom and utter darkness claim it once more. May a cloud settle over it. May blackness overwhelm it. May thick darkness seize it. May it not be included among the days of the year nor be entered in any of the months. May that night be barren. May no shout of joy be heard in it. May those who curse days curse that day. May its morning stars become dark. May it wait for daylight in vain and not see the first rays of dawn, for it did not shut the doors of the womb on me to hide trouble from my eyes.
Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb? Why were there knees to receive me and breasts that I might be nursed? For now I would be lying down in peace; I would be asleep and at rest.
Why is light given to those in misery, and life to the bitter of soul,
to those who long for death that does not come, who search for it more than for hidden treasure, who are filled with gladness and rejoice when they reach the grave?
For sighing has become my daily food; my groans pour out like water.What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me.I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil. ~ Anonymous

In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying. ~ Walter Scott

I have not art to reckon my groans, but that I love thee best, oh, most best, believe it. ~ William Shakespeare

I like the man who takes the stones Upon his rocky road With smiling lips instead of groans, Whate'er his heavy load Who seizes each as on he goes, And neatly crumbles it, And turns his share of pebbly woes To stores of inner grit. ~ John Kendrick Bangs

I tell you the groans of the damned in hell are the deep bass of the universal anthem of praise that shall ascend to the throne of my God for ever and ever. ~ Charles Spurgeon

Let every Christian be a gardener so that he and she and the whole of creation, which groans in expectation of the Spirit's final harvest, may inherit Paradise. If we Christian's truly treasure the hope that one day we, like Adam and the penitent thief, will walk alongside the One who caused even the dead wood of the Cross to blossom with flowers, then we must also imitate the Master's art and make the desolate earth grow green. ~ Vigen Guroian

You got a tattoo?" It's the third time I've asked Holder the same question, but I just don't believe it. It's out of character for him. Especially since I'm not the one who encouraged it. "Jesus, Daniel," he groans on the other end of the line. "Stop. And stop asking me why." "It's just a weird thing to tattoo on yourself. Hopeless. It's a very depressing term. But still, I'm impressed." "I gotta go. I'll call you later this week." I sigh into the phone. "God, this sucks, man. The only good thing about this entire school since you moved is fifth period. ~ Colleen Hoover

Literature is the great garden that is always there and is open to everyone 24 hours a day. Who tends it? The old tour guides and sylviculturists, the wardens, the fuming parkies in their sweat-soaked serge: these have died off. If you do see an official, a professional, these days, then he's likely to be a scowl in a labcoat, come to flatten a forest or decapitate a peak. The public wanders, with its oohs and ahs, its groans and jeers, its million opinions. The wanderers feed the animals, they walk on the grass, they step in the flowerbeds. But the garden never suffers. It is, of course, Eden; it is unfallen and needs no care. ~ Martin Amis

Fuck," he groans. "This is.... Tru... you feel... fuccckk. ~ Samantha Towle

Suddenly, Blaze appears, alone. "She's in the middle of something really important. What do I tell her?"

Jen groans. "Tell her she gets to hack into the CIA's system. She won't be able to pass that up. ~ C.B. Cook

An overburdened liver sounds different from a healthy one. An overburdened liver groans. It groans and begs. It begs for a day off. A day to deal with the worst of the garbage. ~ Herman Koch

No it was my choice. It's what I wanted to do. And I knew they'd probably send me to Iraq. It's not like anybody lied to me."
She groans. "Billy, all these mofos ever do is lie. You think if they halfway told the truth we'd even be in a fucking war? You know what I think, I think we don't deserve to have you guys die for us. No country that lets It's leaders lie like that deserves a single soldier to die for it. ~ Ben Fountain

We were quite naturally unhappy; feeling a definite need, unbearably keen at moments, which was never to be satisfied. But that was recognizable pain, and the sharp pang grew to be almost welcome in the midst of the sultry and opaque life which was not felt, had nothing real in it, and yet swam about us, and choked us and blinded us. All these tears and groans, reproaches and protestations of affection, high talk of duty and work and living for others, were doubtless what we should feel if we felt properly, and yet we had but a dull sense of gloom which could not honestly be referred to the dead; unfortunately it did not quicken our feeling for the living; but hideous as it was, obscured both living and dead; and for long did unpardonable mischief by substituting for the shape of a true and most vivid mother, nothing better than an unlovable phantom. ~ Virginia Woolf

Just as someone in pain is linked by his groans to the present moment (and is entirely outside past and future), so someone bursting out in such ecstatic laughter is without memory and desire, for he is emitting his shout into the world's present moment and wishes to know only that. ~ Milan Kundera

Funeral: a pageant whereby we attest our respect for the dead by enriching the undertaker, and strengthen our grief by an expenditure that deepens our groans and doubles our tears. ~ Ambrose Bierce

We are to groan for glorification, but we are to wait patiently for it, knowing that what the Lord appoints is best. Waiting implies being ready. We are to stand at the door expecting the Beloved to open it and take us away to himself. This "groaning" is a test. You may judge of a man by what he groans after. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon

We live without feeling the country beneath our feet,
our words are inaudible from ten steps away.
Any conversation, however brief,
gravitates, gratingly, toward the Kremlin's mountain man.
His greasy fingers are thick as worms,
his words weighty hammers slamming their target.
His cockroach moustache seems to snicker,
and the shafts of his high-topped boots gleam.
Amid a rabble of scrawny-necked chieftains,
he toys with the favors of such homunculi.
One hisses, the other mewls, one groans, the other weeps;
he prowls thunderously among them, showering them with scorn.
Forging decree after decree, like horseshoes,
he pitches one to the belly, another to the forehead,
a third to the eyebrow, a fourth in the eye.
Every execution is a carnival
that fills his broad Ossetian chest with delight. ~ Osip Mandelstam

You pakeha," she murmured, "all your streets must be straight and even. You tear them from the earth without hearing its groans. And yet the winding, rocky ways are the shorter ones if you take them in peace. ~ Sarah Lark

He who loves his neighbor burns his heart, and the heart, like green wood, groans when it burns, and distills itself in tears. There is no point in taking opium; it is better to put salt and vinegar in the soul's wound, for if you fall asleep and no longer feel the pain, then you no longer exist. And the point is to exist. ~ Miguel De Unamuno

His eyes blaze and sparkle, his whole face is crimson with blood that surges from the lowest depths of the heart, his lips quiver, his teeth are clenched, his hair bristles and stands on end, his breathing is forced and harsh, his joints crack from writhing, he groans and bellows, bursts out into speech with scarcely intelligible words, strikes his hands together continually, and stamps the ground with his feet; his whole body is excited and performs great angry threats; it is an ugly and horrible picture of distorted and swollen frenzy - you cannot tell if this vice is more execrable or more hideous. ~ Seneca.

God, you're so sweet." He holds my face in his hands and kisses me deeply. I slowly unzip his hoodie and touch a hand to his bare chest. I relish in the feel of it. Barely an hour ago I was admiring it from afar, and now it's no longer just a tease. When I slide my hand down to his stomach, he groans and his hands slip just under my shirt. "So that's why you didn't want to change." I can feel his smile against my lips. "You just wanted me to take your clothes off for you."

"Guilty." I lift my arms for him to pull it off. Instead of returning to kissing me, his eyes roam down my body. I fight the urge to cover myself; even though my bra is still on, I feel exposed. His hands lightly touch each side along the seam. My breath catches in my throat.

Meeting my eyes, he says, "You're so damn beautiful." He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss in between my breasts. I shiver at the light touch of his lips to my sensitive skin. If this is how he makes me feel with such little contact, then how will the rest of this feel? The need is building inside like a spark starting a fire. ~ Lilly Avalon

The real challenge is getting into the damned thing, and I believe that's why so many would-be writers with great ideas never actually pick-up the pen or start tapping away at the keys. All too often, it's like trying to start a car on a cold day. At first the motor doesn't even crank, it only groans. But if you keep at it (and the battery doesn't die), the engine starts...runs rough...and then smooths out. ~ Stephen King

The metal frame groans, and something under the hood lets out a mechanical hiss. Smoke billows up from the front, the universal symbol for you're screwed. ~ Anna Banks

Pa, you don't have to give up your room," Willow protested.
"I know, I know, but there ain't nuff space in your room for the two of you together. 'Sides, my bed is bigger and . . . Well, you know."
Willow silently nodded her head, and Rider shook his father-in-law's hand. "Thanks, Mr. Vaughn. It won't be for long. We hope to be in our place before winter sets in."
"Gee, Pa, what we gonna do without Willie here to do for us?" Andy asked.
"Don't rightly know, son, but I reckon we'll get along somehow."
A mischievous glow came to Willow's eyes. "One of you could always get married," she suggested innocently. A collective round of groans and protests circled the table.
Rider draped his arm around her shoulders, a prideful, male grin on his face. "Being married isn't so bad, boys," he said. "It's kind of convenient having your woman handy, whenever you get ra--"
Willow slugged his arm.
The brothers broke into wild laughter. Owen guffawed at his son-in-law. "You just might fit into this here family after all, son! ~ Charlotte McPherren

Excess of trouble may, for a time, distract and overwhelm the soul. Our Lord himself seems to have experienced somewhat of this. Our prayers, perhaps, are never more acceptable, than when they are offered in broken accents, in sighs, and groans. ~ Charles Simeon

The storm lashes us, out of the confusion of grey and yellow the hail of splinters whips forth the childlike cries of the wounded, and in the night shattered life groans painfully into silence. Our hands are earth, our bodies clay and our eyes pools of rain. We do not know whether we are still alive. ~ Erich Maria Remarque

A soldier plods and groans, sweats and toils, he growls and curses, and at the end he dies. ~ Douglas MacArthur

Commentator Arthur W. Pink wrote: If God is in heaven then prayer needs to be a thing of the heart and not of the lips, for no physical voice on earth can rend the skies, but sighs and groans will reach the ears of God. If we are to pray to God in heaven, then our souls must be detached from all the earth. If we pray to God in heaven, then faith must wing our petitions.4 ~ John F. MacArthur Jr.

Charles Baudelaire: Get Drunk
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters; that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's horrible burden that breaks your shoulders and bows you down, you must get drunk without ceasing.
But what with? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose. But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on the steps of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the bleak solitude of your room, you are waking up when drunkenness has already abated, ask the wind, the wave, a star, the clock, all that which flees, all that which groans, all that which rolls, all that which sings, all that which speaks, ask them what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will reply: 'It is time to get drunk! So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk; get drunk, and never pause for rest! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose!'
Charles Baudelaire, tr. Michael Hamburger ~ Charles Baudelaire

His warm tickling fingers stroked against her like the idle sway of river reeds... cunning fingertips that quickly discovered where she most wanted them. He toyed with her, parting her, slowly investigating the cambered softness and the sensitive places within. Blindly she reached down to grip his stronger wrist, feeling the intricate movements of bone and tendon. He slid two fingers inside her, his thumb gliding over her sex in tender circles.
The water sloshed in the tub as she began to push up rhythmically, urging herself into his hand. A third finger worked inside, and she tightened and gasped out a protest- it was too much, she couldn't- but he whispered that she could, she must, and he stretched her carefully and took her groans into his mouth.
Splayed and floating, Win felt herself loosening, opening to the sensuality of the fingers reaching inside her. She felt greedy and wild, undulating to capture more of the obliterating pleasure. She actually clawed him a little, her hands scrabbling against his hard, bare skin, and he growled as if it pleased him. An abbreviated cry left her lips at the first shock of release. She tried to stifle it, but another was torn from her, and another, and the bathwater rippled as she shuddered, the climax lengthened by the delicately emphatic thrusting that continued until she was limp and panting. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Tragically misinformed, some Christian believers at first looked upon hippies as promising prospects through whom the Church could present the claims of Jesus Christ. Clergymen mistakenly proclaimed that hippies were searching for truth and meaning and needed only to be guided. Wasn't their talk about love? Weren't they seeking an opportunity to share the love of God with others?

On the contrary, the hippies claimed to have found meaning for existence through conscious expanding drugs. And although they sang of love in chants and groans, they knew nothing of love's commitment and concern and duty towards one's neighbor. They ignored the responsibility of love and dwelt upon their quest for uninhibited physical gratification. ~ Bob Larson

That can cause an electrolyte disturbance: hypercalcemia. Stones, bones, moans, groans, thrones, and psychiatric overtones. That's the mnemonic, Natasha said, and repeated psychiatric overtones to herself. p.307 ~ Anthony Marra

So also Augustine, "The suffering at which you cry, is medicine, not punishment; chastisement, not condemnation. Do not drive away the rod, if you would not be driven away from the inheritance. Know, brethren, that the whole of that misery of the human race, under which the world groans, is a medicinal pain, not a penal sentence, ~ John Calvin

Above them, one of the blackened television screens brightens, and there's an announcement about the in-flight movie. It's an animated film about a family of ducks, one that Hadley's actually see, and when Oliver groans, shes about to deny the whole thing. But then she twists around in her seat and eyes him critically.
"There's nothing wrong with ducks," she tells him, and he rolls his eyes.
"Talking ducks?"
Hadley grins. "They sing, too."
"Don't tell me," he says. "You've already seen it."
She holds up two fingers. "Twice."
"You do know it's meant for five-year-olds, right?"
"Five- to eight-year-olds, thank you very much."
"And how old are you again?"
"Old enough to appreciate our web-footed friends."
"You," he says, laughing in spite of himself, "are a mad as a hatter."
"Wait a second," Hadley says in mock horror. "Is that a reference to a...cartoon?"
No, genius. It's a reference to a famous work of literature by Lewis Carroll. But once again, I can see how well that American education is working for you. ~ Jennifer E. Smith

Writing makes no noise, except groans, and it can be done everywhere, and it is done alone. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

Old is the tree and the fruit good,
Very old and thick the wood.
Woodman, is your courage stout?
Beware! the root is wrapped about
Your mother's heart, your father's bones;
And like the mandrake comes with groans. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

This law of monogamy, or the monogamic system, laid the foundation for prostitution and the evils and diseases of the most revolting nature and character under which modern Christendom groans. ~ Orson Pratt

Close your eyes and picture it. Can you see it?"

I nod, eyes closed.

"Imagine it right there before you. See its texture, shape, and color - got it?"

I smile, holding the image in my head.

"Good. Now reach out and touch it. Feel its contours with the tips of your fingers, cradle its weight in the palms of your hands, then combine all of your senses - sight, touch, smell, taste - can you taste it?"

I bite my lip and suppress a giggle.

"Perfect. Now combine that with feeling. Believe it exists right before you. Feel it, see it, touch it, taste it, accept it, manifest it!" he says.

So I do. I do all of those things. And when he groans, I open my eyes to see for myself.

"Ever." He shakes his head. "You were supposed to think of an orange. This isn't even close."

"Nope, nothing fruity about him." I laugh, smiling ateach of my Damens - the replica I manifested before me, and the flesh and blood version beside me. Both of them equally tall, dark, and so devastatingly handsome they hardly seem real. ~ Alyson Noel

Jake became excruciatingly aware of her, there, right behind him. The small grunts and groans as she placed each foot carefully on the slick ground reverberated in his gut. He wanted to turn around and tell her to shut the hell up.
She sounded as though she was having sex.
Good sex. ~ Cherry Adair

And letting out thirty groans and sixty sighs and one hundred and twenty curses on the head of the person who'd brought him there, he hauled himself to his feet, ~ Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra

I pass over the spectacle of Poirot on a camel. He started by groans and lamentations and ended by shrieks, gesticulations and invocations to the Virgin Mary and every Saint in the calendar. In the end, he descended ignominiously and finished the journey on a diminutive donkey. ~ Agatha Christie

In all states of dilemma or of difficulty, prayer is an available source. The ship of prayer may sail through all temptations, doubts and fears, straight up to the throne of God; and though she may be outward bound with only griefs, and groans, and sighs, she shall return freighted with a wealth of blessings! ~ Charles Spurgeon

Have you ever heard the Hungarian national anthem? No? Good for you! I wouldn't recommend it at all. Unless you are looking for inspiration for your suicide attempt. If it is not just an attempt but you are deadly serious about your suicide then I strongly recommend you not only read the lyrics but listen to the music too. The most mournful funeral song sounds jolly compared to it. Other nations have inspiring anthems like 'God Save the Queen' or the 'La Marseillaise' or 'The StarSpangled Banner', and their lyrics are about victory and proudness like 'Russia – our sacred homeland, Russia – our beloved country' or 'Germany, Germany above everything, Above everything in the world!' But what about the Hungarian anthem? It starts with 'O Lord, bless the Hungarian' and then follow eight long and painful stanzas about our 'slave yoke' and 'funeral urn' and 'the corpses of our defeated army' and 'groans of death, weeping' and finally it finishes with 'Pity, O Lord, the Hungarians they who have suffered for all sins of the past and of the future!' Yes, of the future too. ~ Angela Kiss

I dreamed my shoulders held up the sky for a thousand hawks that squawked and cawed and beat their feathered wings against the hotness of the day. I supported their flight, watching and marveling, until sweat dripped from my body, and groans crossed my lips over fatiguing muscles.
Choosing to let the sky fall, I awoke.
My eyes opened to a cast of hawks gripping me in their talons. They supported my weight, hauling me high above the clouds through a blue expanse of heaven. And though they struggled - squawking and flapping wearily - never once did a single bird release its hold. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Blow on, ye death fraught whirlwinds! blow,
Around the rocks, and rifted caves;
Ye demons of the gulf below!
I hear you, in the troubled waves.
High on this cliff, which darkness shrouds
In night's impenetrable clouds,
My solitary watch I keep,
And listen, while the turbid deep
Groans to the raging tempests, as they roll
Their desolating force, to thunder at the pole.

Eternal world of waters, hail!
Within thy caves my Lover lies;
And day and night alike shall fail
Ere slumber lock my streaming eyes.
Along this wild untrodden coast,
Heap'd by the gelid' hand of frost;
Thro' this unbounded waste of seas,
Where never sigh'd the vernal breeze;
Mine was the choice, in this terrific form,
To brave the icy surge, to shiver in the storm.

Yes! I am chang'd - My heart, my soul,
Retain no more their former glow.
Hence, ere the black'ning tempests roll,
I watch the bark, in murmurs low,
(While darker low'rs the thick'ning' gloom)
To lure the sailor to his doom;
Soft from some pile of frozen snow
I pour the syren-song of woe;
Like the sad mariner's expiring cry,
As, faint and worn with toil, he lays him down to die.

Then, while the dark and angry deep
Hangs his huge billows high in air ;
And the wild wind with awful sweep,
Howls in each fitful swell - beware!
Firm on the rent and crashing mast,
I ~ Anne Bannerman

To march over dead man, to hear without concern the groans of the wounded, I say few men can stand such scenes unless steeled by habit or fortified by military pride. ~ Nathanael Greene

It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell. ~ William T. Sherman

Groans that words cannot express" (Rom. 8:26) are often prayers that God cannot refuse. Charles H. Spurgeon ~ Lettie B. Cowman

My Friend:
Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.
I have no sleep tonight.
Ever and again I open my door and look out on
the darkness, my friend!
I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!
By what dim shore of the ink-black river,
by what far edge of the frowning forest,
through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading
thy course to come to me, my friend? ~ Rabindranath Tagore

But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I distinguished nothing. From my earliest remembrance I had been as I then was in height and proportion. I had never yet seen a being resembling me or who claimed any intercourse with me. What was I? The question again recurred, to be answered only with groans. ~ Mary Shelley

To see human beings in agony, to see them covered in blood and to hear their death groans, makes people humble. It makes their spirits delicate, bright, peaceful. It's never at such times that we become cruel or bloodthirsty. No, it's on a beautiful spring afternoon like this that people suddenly become cruel. It's at a moment like this, don't you think, while one's vaguely watching the sun as it peeps through the leaves of the trees above a well-mown lawn? Every possible nightmare in the world, every possible nightmare in history, has come into being like this. ~ Yukio Mishima

Shane closes his eyes and groans deep in his throat, a noise that embodies sex and death. His back arches, and his fingers rake the carpet as if to pull it up like grass. ~ Jeri Smith-Ready

She shakes her head but her lips lift. "Stop." "Stop what?" "Being right." She groans and leans back against the couch in a huff. "I hate that we're all so worked up over it and you say a few words, and now everything makes sense again. ~ Krista Ritchie

She shakes my hand in a friendly grip. "Lovely to meet you, sweets. Tell me, are you a virgin?"

Nicholas groans. "Ezzy."

"What? I'm just making conversation." She elbows him. "If you want a shot at this sorry sack, the V-card has to be in pristine condition. Is it, Olivia?"

I stand up tall. "Does anal count? If it does, I qualify."

Esmerelda's red lips open wide in a contagious laugh.

"I like this one, Nicky. ~ Emma Chase

You sound just like Mama," she groans in exasperation. ~ Jolene Buchheit

Blue is the color of the mind in borrow of the body; it is the color consciousness becomes when caressed; it is the dark inside of sentences, sentences which follow their own turnings inward out of sight like the whorls of a shell, and which we follow warily, as Alice after that rabbit, nervous and white, till suddenly - there! climbing down clauses and passing through 'and' as it opens - there - there - we're here!... in time for tea and tantrums; such are the sentences we should like to love - the ones which love us and themselves as well - incestuous sentences - sentences which make an imaginary speaker speak the imagination loudly to the reading eye; that have a kind of orality transmogrified: not the tongue touching the genital tip, but the idea of the tongue, the thought of the tongue, word-wet to part-wet, public mouth to private, seed to speech, and speech... ah! after exclamations, groans, with order gone, disorder on the way, we subside through sentences like these, the risk of senselessness like this, to float like leaves on the restful surface of that world of words to come, and there, in peace, patiently to dream of the sensuous, and mindful Sublime. ~ William H. Gass

Come, and see the victories of the cross. Christ's wounds are thy healings, His agonies thy repose, His conflicts thy conquests, His groans thy songs, His pains thine ease, His shame thy glory, His death thy life, His sufferings thy salvation. ~ Matthew Henry

I confess, without shame, that I am sick and tired of fighting - its glory is all moonshine; even success the most brilliant is over dead and mangled bodies, with the anguish and lamentations of distant families, appealing to me for sons, husbands, and fathers ... it is only those who have never heard a shot, never heard the shriek and groans of the wounded and lacerated ... that cry aloud for more blood, more vengeance, more desolation. ~ William Tecumseh Sherman

It wasn't you're fault," I whisper. And then out of self-protection more than anything else, I bring the glory. I don't warn him or anything. I don't damp it down. I bring it. The room fills with light.
"This is what I am," I say, my hair ablaze around my head.
He squints at me. his jaw juts out a little in pure stubbornness. He stands his ground
"I know," he says.
I take a step towards him, close the space between us, put my glowing hand against his cheek. He starts to tremble. "This is what I am," I say again and my wings are out now.
His knees wobble, but he fights it. He puts his hand at my waist, turns me, pulls me closer, which surprises me.
"I can accept that," he whispers, and holds his breath, and leans in to kiss me
His lips brush mine for an instant, and an emotion like victory tears through him, but he pulls away and glances at the front door. Groans.
Christian is standing in the doorway.
"Wow," Tucker says, trying to grin. "You really know how to cramp a guy's style."
His legs give out. He falls to his knees.
My light blinks off. ~ Cynthia Hand

I hope that no more groans of wounded men and women will ever go to the ear of the Great Spirit Chief above, and that all people may be one people. ~ Chief Joseph

Exoneration of Jesus Christ If Christ was in fact God, he knew all the future.
Before Him like a panorama moved the history yet to be. He knew how his words would be interpreted.

He knew what crimes, what horrors, what infamies, would be committed in his name. He knew that the hungry flames of persecution would climb around the limbs of countless martyrs. He knew that thousands and thousands of brave men and women would languish in dungeons in darkness, filled with pain.

He knew that his church would invent and use instruments of torture; that his followers would appeal to whip and fagot, to chain and rack. He saw the horizon of the future lurid with the flames of the auto da fe.

He knew what creeds would spring like poisonous fungi from every text. He saw the ignorant sects waging war against each other.

He saw thousands of men, under the orders of priests, building prisons for their fellow-men. He saw thousands of scaffolds dripping with the best and bravest blood. He saw his followers using the instruments of pain. He heard the groans - saw the faces white with agony.

He heard the shrieks and sobs and cries of all the moaning, martyred multitudes. He knew that commentaries would be written on his words with swords, to be read by the light of fagots. He knew that the Inquisition would be born of the teachings attributed to him. He saw the interpolations and falsehoods that hypocrisy would write and tell. He saw all ~ Robert G. Ingersoll

To take the simplest example: one man laughs, and another, who hears, becomes merry; or a man weeps, and another, who hears, feels sorrow. A man is excited or irritated, and another man, seeing him, comes to a similar state of mind. By his movements, or by the sounds of his voice, a man expresses courage and determination, or sadness and calmness, and this state of mind passes on to others. A man suffers, expressing his sufferings by groans and spasms, and this suffering transmits itself to other people; a man expresses his feeling of admiration, devotion, fear, respect, or love to certain objects, persons, or phenomena, and others are infected by the same feelings of admiration, devotion, fear, respect, or love to the same objects, persons, and phenomena. ~ Leo Tolstoy

Ella."
I jump when his warm hand covers mine, and then his head moves to rest on my
shoulder. His soft hair tickles my bare skin, and I force myself not to run a
comforting hand through it. He doesn't deserve comfort right now.
"You can't leave," he whispers, his breath fanning over my neck. "I don't want
you to go."
He kisses my shoulder, but there's nothing sexual about it. Nothing romantic in
the way his hand tightens over my knuckles.
"You belong with us. You're the best thing that ever happened to this family."
Surprise filters through me. Okay. Wow.
"You're ours," Easton mumbles. "I'm sorry about tonight. I really am, Ella.
Please…don't be mad at me."
My anger melts away. He sounds like a lost little boy, and I can't stop myself
from stroking his hair now. "I'm not mad. But dammit, Easton, the gambling needs
to stop. I might not be there to bail you out next time."
"I know." He groans. "You shouldn't have had to bail me out tonight. I promise
I'll pay you back, every last cent. I…" He lifts his head and presses a kiss to my
cheek. "Thank you for doing that. I mean it."
Sighing, I turn my eyes back to the road. "You're welcome. ~ Erin Watt

No man is rich who shakes and groans
Convinced that he needs more. ~ Boethius

Why am I feeling guilty? Why is he so mad? I peek up at him. "Well, you know a lot more about me now," he snaps, his mouth presses into a hard line. "I knew you were inexperienced, but a virgin!" He says it like it's a really dirty word. "Hell, Ana, I just showed you ... " he groans. "May God forgive me. Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?" "Of course I have." I try my best to look affronted. Okay ... maybe twice. "And a nice young man hasn't swept you off your feet? I just don't understand. You're twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You're beautiful." He runs his hand through his hair again. Beautiful. I flush with pleasure. Christian Grey thinks I'm beautiful. I knot my fingers together, staring at them hard, trying to conceal my goofy grin. ~ E.L. James

We acquire a sense of worth either by realizing our talents, or by keeping busy, or by identifying ourselves with something apart from us
be it a cause, a leader, a group, possessions and the like. Of the three, the path of self-realization is the most difficult. It is taken only when other avenues to a sense of worth are more or less blocked. Men of talent have to be encouraged and goaded to engage in creative work. Their groans and laments echo through the ages. Action is a highroad to self-confidence and esteem. ~ Eric Hoffer

We're out." ...
A round of groans passed from my new group of friends, and I smiled that they were actually disappointed we were retiring. I waved to the girls. "Don't leave!" a few called out.
"My girl needs sex. I deliver," Lane said unabashedly. He looked at the guys, quirking his eyebrow in question. "What would you do?"
All three of them, Jax, Jace, and Cole, proceeded to point toward the exit. ~ Kimberly Lauren

He sank more and more into apathy; little interested him apart from dolls and other children's toys. He still spoke occasionally, but mainly to produce stock sentences in the style of a brainwashed schoolboy. Franziska made a record of some of them: 'I translated much'. 'I lived in a good place called Naumburg'. 'I swam in the Saale'. 'I was very fine because I lived in a fine house'. 'I love Bismarck'. 'I don't like Friedrich Nietzsche'. It would be a mercy to think that he experienced at least a kind of vegetative contentment, but this seems not to have been the case. He suffered from his life-long curse of insomnia, and visitors downstairs were often disturbed by groans and howls coming from the upstairs bedroom. Towards the end of Franziska recorded him uttering 'More light!' (Goethe's dying words) and 'In short, dead!' suggesting that that is what he wanted to be. ~ Julian Young

It thunders, howls, roars, hisses, whistles, blusters, hums, growls, rumbles, squeaks, groans, sings, crackles, cracks, rattles, flickers, clicks, snarls, tumbles, whimpers, whines, rustles, murmurs, crashes, clucks, to gurgle, tinkles, blows, snores, claps, to lisp, to cough, it boils, to scream, to weep, to sob, to croak, to stutter, to lisp, to coo, to breathe, to clash, to bleat, to neigh, to grumble, to scrape, to bubble. These words, and others like them, which express sounds are more than mere symbols: they are a kind of hieroglyphics for the ear. ~ Georg C. Lichtenberg

Pain is never ennobling, only degrading. And do not be afraid, sir, that there will ever be too little of it in the world to spare mankind its "purification". There will always be human groans enough to fill the sails of that argument. But I am a practical Christian. Unlike you, sir, I relieve suffering, wherever I see it. Your ladies would not object to warm baths, to mitigate labour pains? To opium? It is the same prinicple. ~ Richard Gordon

But in all that suffering, the most painful suffering of all was the consciousness that it was all banal, had all been discovered a long time ago, and was known to all the generations past, all just a repeated series, stamped out by our genes. That the universe was filled to its edges with groans as alike as two notes, that those particular groans formed one great groan similar to the shrill parliament of the sparrows and that groan became an interstellar roar, the inaudible groan of the aging cosmos. ~ Tadeusz Konwicki

​"Sure there's a hell..." I could hear him saying it now, now, as I lay here on bed with her breath in my face, and her body squashed against me... "It is the drab desert where the sun sheds neither warmth nor light and Habit force-feeds senile Desire. It is the place here mortal Want dwells with immortal Necessity, and the night becomes hideous with the groans of one and the ecstatic shrieks of the other. Yes, there is a hell, my boy, and you do not have to dig for it. ~ Jim Thompson

Why do I feel bad about leaving him behind?

I liked it better when I just wanted to key his car to feel good.

He's like Anna. Once they're in your life, you just adapt to their creepy ways and start to find the weird charm in them. Damn him for making me miss her, and damn him for worming his way into the part of my mind that makes me worry about him.

"Are you going to be okay?" I ask when the knocking gets really obnoxious.

He groans.

"Only if you make her stop before I have to kill her and really piss Arion off."

With that, I remember Damien is also a monster, and I turn and head off with the assurance he's a big boy who can take care of himself, even when he looks sad, miserable, and a little lonely. ~ Kristy Cunning

Let us leave it to the reviewers to abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure and over every new novel to talk in threadbare strains of the trash with which the press now groans. ~ Jane Austen

Ugh," Turner groans from the kitchen. "That skinny tramp can go fuck herself. She doesn't stand a chance. Even if I wasn't fucking committed to marrying your ass making tiny Turner babies, she's a little below my usual standards." Naomi's eyes narrow, and I can't hold back my smile. God, I love the shit out of these stupid assholes. I hope they buy a house down the street from me, so I can watch Naomi throwing Turner's stuff out on the lawn every other Christmas. I don't admit to myself that in that fantasy, Lola Saints is in the kitchen with nothing but an apron on. ~ C.M. Stunich

This is the definition of peace.
The definition is interrupted by Toraf's ringtone. Why did Rachel get Toraf a phone? Does she hate me? Fumbling behind him in the sand, Galen puts a hand on it right before it stops ringing. He waits five seconds and...Yep, he's calling again.
"Hello?" he whispers.
"Galen, it's Toraf."
Galen snorts. "You think?"
"Rayna's ready to leave. Where are you?"
Galen sighs. "We're on the beach. Emma's still sleeping. We'll walk back in a few minutes." Emma braved her mom's wrath by skipping curfew again last night to be with him. Grom's mating ceremony is tomorrow, and Galen and Rayna's attendance is required. He'll have to leave her in Toraf's care until he gets back.
"Sorry, Highness. I told you, Rayna's ready to go. You have about two minutes of privacy. She's heading your way. "The phone disconnects.
Galen leans down and sweeps his lips over her sweet neck. "Emma," he whispers.
She sighs. "I heard him," she groans drowsily. "You should tell Toraf that he doesn't have to yell into the phone. And if he keeps doing it, I'm going to accidentally break it."
Galen grins. "He'll get the hang of it soon. He's not a complete idiot."
At this, Emma opens one eye.
He shrugs. "Well, three quarters maybe. But not a complete one."
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" she says, sitting up and stretching.
"You know I do. But I think this mating ceremony will be interesting enough wi ~ Anna Banks

Yank some of the groans out of your prayers and shove in some shouts. ~ Billy Sunday

It's too hot out here. Let's go inside. I'll teach you how to properly enter a room based on who is already there, and whether they are sitting, standing, or eating." Aladdin groans. "I'm sick of playing prince. Let's pick pockets. ~ Jessica Khoury

Now yes, yes, creation sometimes screams a confusing message - fear, pain, grief. Fire burns, rivers flood, winds go hurricane, the earth shudders so hard it levels cities. But you must remember - this was not so in Eden. Mankind fell, surrendering this earth to the evil one. St. Paul says that creation groans for the day of its restoration (see Rom. 8:18–22), making it clear that everything is not as it was meant to be. People come to terrible conclusions when they assume this world is exactly as God intended. (An assumption that has wrought havoc in the sciences.) The earth is broken.
Which only makes the beauty that does flow so generously that much more astounding. And reassuring. ~ John Eldredge

The cannon thunders ... limbs fly in all directions ... one can hear the groans of victims and the howling of those performing the sacrifice ... it's Humanity in search of happiness. ~ Charles Baudelaire

I

On the calm black water where the stars are sleeping
White Ophelia floats like a great lily;
Floats very slowly, lying in her long veils...
- In the far-off woods you can hear them sound the mort.

For more than a thousand years sad Ophelia
Has passed, a white phantom, down the long black river.
For more than a thousand years her sweet madness
Has murmured its ballad to the evening breeze.

The wind kisses her breasts and unfolds in a wreath
Her great veils rising and falling with the waters;
The shivering willows weep on her shoulder,
The rushes lean over her wide, dreaming brow.

The ruffled water-lilies are sighing around her;
At times she rouses, in a slumbering alder,
Some nest from which escapes a small rustle of wings;
- A mysterious anthem falls from the golden stars.

II

O pale Ophelia! beautiful as snow!
Yes child, you died, carried off by a river!
- It was the winds descending from the great mountains of Norway
That spoke to you in low voices of better freedom.

It was a breath of wind, that, twisting your great hair,
Brought strange rumors to your dreaming mind;
It was your heart listening to the song of Nature
In the groans of the tree and the sighs of the nights;

It was the voice of mad seas, the great roar,
That shattered your child's heart, too human and too soft;
It was a hands ~ Arthur Rimbaud

Oh, ye infidel philosophers, teach me how to find joy in sorrow, strength in weakness, and light in darkest days; how to bear buffeting and scorn; how to welcome death, and to pass through it into the sphere of life, and this not for me only, but for the whole world that groans and travails in pain; and till you can do this, speak not to me of a better revelation than the Bible. ~ Henry Ward Beecher

It's only fair that I break you," Smoke groans, seating himself fully inside me. He looks me in the eyes. "Since you've already broken me. ~ T.M. Frazier

Holly rubs her temples. "Are we talking ... vampires?"
Arkady groans. "On, the V-word! Here it comes again. ~ David Mitchell

We never even kissed or looked into each other's eyes. Our lips just trespassed on those inner labyrinths hidden deep within our ears, filled them with the private music of wicked words, hers in many languages, mine in the off color of my only tongue, until as our tones shifted, and our consonants spun and squealed, rattled faster, hesitated, raced harder, syllables soon melting with groans, or moans finding purchase in new words, or old words, or made-up words, until we gathered up our heat and refused to release it, enjoying too much the dark language we had suddenly stumbled upon, craved to, carved to, not a communication really but a channeling of our rumored desires, hers for all I know gone to Black Forests and wolves, mine banging back to a familiar form, that great revenant mystery I still could only hear the shape of, which in spite of our separate lusts and individual cries still continued to drive us deeper into stranger tones, our mutual desire to keep gripping the burn fueled by sound. ~ Mark Z. Danielewski

God," Kal groans, putting me down on my feet when we reach his car. "You two are disgustingly horny. It's abnormal. ~ Siobhan Davis

Could you have seen that mother clinging to her child, when they fastened the irons upon his wrists; could you have heard her heart-rending groans, and seen her bloodshot eyes wander wildly from face to face, vainly pleading for mercy; could you have witnessed that scene as I saw it, you would exclaim, Slavery is damnable! ~ Harriet Ann Jacobs

Here, my man, just hold it this way, while I look into it a bit," he said one day to Fitz G., putting a wounded arm into the keeping of a sound one, and proceeding to poke about among bits of bone and visible muscles, in a red and black chasm made by some infernal machine of the shot or shell description. Poor Fitz held on like a grim Death, ashamed to show fear before a woman, till it grew more than he could bear in silence; and, after a few smothered groans,he looked at me imploringly, as if he said, "I wouldn't, ma'am, if I could help it," and fainted quietly away.

Dr. P. looked up, gave a compassionate sort of cluck, and poked away more busily than ever, with a nod at me and a brief - "Never mind; be so good as to hold this till I finish."

I obeyed, cherishing the while a strong desire to insinuate a few of his own disagreeable knives and scissors into him, and see how he liked it. A very disrespectful and ridiculous fancy of course; for he was doing all that could be done, and the arm prospered finely in his hands. But the human mind is prone to prejudice; and though a personable man, speaking French like a born "Parley voo," and whipping off legs like an animated guillotine, I must confess to a sense of relief when he was ordered elsewhere; and suspect that several of the men would have faced a rebel battery with less trepidation than they did Dr. P., when he came briskly in on his morning round. ~ Louisa May Alcott

When his lips find mine, they're soft and tentative, so I force my tongue into his mouth to harden the kiss, but he groans and pulls away. ~ Eden Finley

It is an unfortunate human failing that a full pocketbook often groans more loudly than an empty stomach. ~ Franklin D. Roosevelt

Se there was a matter of half a ream of brown paper stuck upon me, from first to last. As I laid all of a heap in our kitchen, plastered all over, you might have thought I was a large brown-paper parcel, chock full of nothing but groans. Did I groan loud, Wackford, or did I groan soft?' asked Mr Squeers, appealing to his son. ~ Charles Dickens

All right, sweetheart; here's your last question, and it's a real challenge, so don't let yourself get distracted by these jealous women. To make sure all twelve of our future children are going to be legitimate, what New York City football team did Joe Namath play for?"

Gracie's face fell. Lord. Any fool should know the answer to this one. New York City... What football team was from New York City? Her expression brightened. "The New York City YANKEES!"

A roar of laughter went up from the crowd, accompanied by more than a few loud groans. Bobby Tom silenced them all with a glare. At the same time, the glitter in his eyes dared any of them to contradict her. When he was certain everyone understood the message, he turned back to Gracie and gathered her into his arms. With a tender look and a gentle brush of his lips, he said "Exactly right, sweetheart. I had no idea you knew so much about football"

And that was how every last person in Telarosa, Texas, came to understand that Bobby Tom Denton had finally and forever fallen head over heels in love. ~ Susan Elizabeth Phillips

I don't mind a crowd's not laughing; it's the groans that slow down the show. ~ Dave Attell