A Quote by Matsuo Basho

Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness — © Matsuo Basho
Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
A whistle in the dark is still a whistle.
O, the sweet, sweet twilight just before the time of rest, When the black clouds are driven away, and the stormy winds suppressed.
I wasn't born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilight No I was all horns and thorns sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright.
Twilight - a time of pause when nature changes her guard. All living things would fade and die from too much light or too much dark, if twilight were not.
The thing we adore about these dog-whistle kerfuffles is that the people who react to the whistle always assume it's intended for somebody else. The whole point of the metaphor is that if you can hear the whistle, you're the dog.
loneliness is a twilight moment by feelings, longing after something or someone you can not reach
The Loneliness One dare not sound -- And would as soon surmise AS in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size -- The Loneliness whose worst alarm Is lest itself should see -- And perish from before itself For just a scrutiny -- The Horror not to be surveyed -- But skirted in the Dark -- With Consciousness suspended -- And Being under Lock -- I fear me this -- is Loneliness -- The Maker of the soul Its Caverns and its Corridors Illuminate -- or seal
I was taught to whistle as a little girl by an undertaker. I used to sit in his workshop, watching him planing wood for the coffins, and he used to whistle all the time - and eventually I started whistling, too. I can whistle anything, particularly trumpet tunes from Classic FM.
The good chip allows you to whistle while you walk in the dark alleys of golf.
I don't want dead paint, so I test many of my works by studying them in a dark room at twilight or even after dark to check the luminosity. If the darker forms still have resonance and luminosity, I know the painting's working.
Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere; Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but stiketh nere; Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough; Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough; Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.
When the whistle blew and the call stretched thin across the night, one had to believe that any journey could be sweet to the soul.
Cinema is a wonderful art form for talking about loneliness. We can experience films together with other people. It can be a collective experience of loneliness. We're alone in the dark of the theater, but with other people.
Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's foam, Where the shrill winds whistle free.
Referees are the law. They have a whistle. They blow it. And that whistle is the articulation of God's justice.
When people say “clean as a whistle”, they forget that a whistle is full of spit.
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