A Quote by Don McLean
In the streets the children screamed. The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
Related Quotes
He screamed for all he had lost...screamed for the half male he was...screamed for Jane...screamed for who his parents were and what he wished for his sister...screamed for what he had forced his best friend to do...He screamed, and screamed until there was no breath, no consciousness, no nothing. No past or present. Not even himself anymore. And in the midst of the chaos, in the strangest way, he became free.
I don't know if I've ever screamed or cried for a band.
Time cannot children,poets,lovers tell- measure imagine,mystery,a kiss -not though mankind would rather know than feel
We have to convince the people of Bucharest, who are dog lovers, to treat dogs like they treat their children and not just let them roam the streets.
In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
I dreamed I spoke in another's language, I dreamed I lived in another's skin, I dreamed I was my own beloved, I dreamed I was a tiger's kin. I dreamed that Eden lived inside me, And when I breathed a garden came, I dreamed I knew all of Creation, I dreamed I knew the Creator's name. I dreamed--and this dream was the finest-- That all I dreamed was real and true, And we would live in joy forever, You in me, and me in you.
Poets are sitting in my kitchen.
Why do these poets lie?
Why do children get children and
Did you hear what it said?
I screamed and cried, but no one ever came. No doubt it was in one of those scream-filled nights in which my strong singer lungs and my crazy voice were born.
I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood;
And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood
With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes.
My childhood is streets upon streets upon streets upon streets. Streets to define you and streets to confine you, with no sign of motorway, freeway or highway.
My mom was very affectionate but also very loud. My whole house was very loud. My father screamed, my mother screamed - everybody screamed.
Well, here he was. They could save each other, the way the poets promised lovers should. He was mystery, he was darkness, he was all she had dreamed of. And if she would only free him he would service her - oh yes - until her pleasure reached that threshold that, like all thresholds, was a place where the strong grew stronger, and the weak perished. Pleasure was pain there, and vice versa. And he knew it well enough to call it home.
Lovers, Lunatics and poets are made of same stuff.
You screamed.” Will said. “Is that all you did?” “I screamed a great deal.” Tatiana sounded injured.
On the day we filmed the scene, a bee stung me. I screamed and cried so much they called a doctor, and my father said, "It can't hurt that badly!" But it wasn't the pain that upset me, it was the thought that I mightn't be in the film. Already the little professional.
I credit my singing to my mom because she didn't give me a binky when I was a baby. I cried and screamed for the first six months - my mom would say four years of my life - and I developed wonderful lungs.
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