A Quote by John Bright

The angel of death has been abroad throughout the land; you may almost hear the beating of his wings. — © John Bright
The angel of death has been abroad throughout the land; you may almost hear the beating of his wings.
How's the Angel of Death supposed to do his job with clipped wings?
Every time you hear a bell ring, it means that some angel's just got his wings.
His whole body was completely still, except the wings, which were still fluttering a little, like when someone dies. That's when he finally understood that of all the things the angel had told him, nothing was true. That he wasn't even an angel, just a liar with wings.
All those golden autumn days the sky was full of wings. Wings beating low over the blue water of Silver Lake, wings beating high in the blue air far above it . . . bearing them all away to the green fields in the South.
Language, at least, may give up the secrets of life and death, leading us through the maze to the original Word as monster or angel, to the mournful place where we may meet Job and hear his cry, 'How long will you vex my soul and break me in pieces with words?
Death darkens his eyes, and unplumes his wings, Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings: Live so, my Love, that when death shall come, Swan-like and sweet it may waft thee home.
This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceived a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. This storm irresistably propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. The storm is what we call progress.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
I started thinking about my relationship with my students; I'm this guy who comes in from book - and movie - land and descends on angel wings into their classroom.
...The Marines have been the first to land-on embattled beaches throughout the world-we share the unfaltering confidence of all Americans that they will land again-and land hard.
The beating on the tail of the snake may stop his progress a little, but the more vital parts must be struck before his poisonous death-dealing venom will be wiped out.
When you are lonely or frightened, talk to your guardian angel. You can do it out loud or inside your head, your angel can hear you. Ask your angel to be near you, to put his or her hand on your shoulder, to give you courage and protect you.
I would have liked to catch hold of sleep at least once, just as I had been resolved to catch hold of death one day, to catch hold of the wings of the angel of sleep when it came for me, to grab it with two fingers like a butterfly after sneaking up on it from behind. [...] My sleep game was practice for the grand struggle with death.
The advantage my looks gave me was that I wasn't limited to just playing Indian roles when I was abroad, and I've been abroad for almost twenty-five years.
You're an angel," she repeated slowly, surprised to see Daniel close his eyes and moan in pleasure, almost as if they were kissing. "I'm in love with an angel.
Are you okay?" Daniel whispered, his voice soft, his lips so close to hers. "Yes." She could feel the beating of his wings. "You caught me." "I will always catch you when you fall.
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