A Quote by William Vaughn Moody

The roaring street is hung for miles With fierce electric fire. — © William Vaughn Moody
The roaring street is hung for miles With fierce electric fire.
A gulf profound as that Serbonian bog Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old, Where armies whole have sunk: the parching air Burns frore, and cold performs th' effect of fire. Thither by harpy-footed Furies hal'd, At certain revolutions all the damn'd Are brought, and feel by turns the bitter change Of fierce extremes,-extremes by change more fierce; From beds of raging fire to starve in ice Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine Immovable, infix'd, and frozen round, Periods of time; thence hurried back to fire.
Electric guitars are an abomination, whoever heard of an electric violin? An electric cello? Or for that matter an electric singer?
When I was a little kid, I used to walk miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles of railroad tracks.
You could be adding gasoline to a roaring fire. We understand that. But this is who we are.
She has an electric blender, electric toaster and electric bread maker. She said "There are too many gadgets and no place to sit down!" So I bought her an electric chair.
At 60 miles an hour the loudest noise in this Rolls-Royce comes from the electric clock.
Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass them on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you.
Like a fierce wind roaring high up in the bare branches of trees, a wave of passion came over me, aimless but surging . . . I suppose it's lust, but it's awful and holy like thunder and lightning and the wind.
There are plenty of times we need fierce compassion, fierce love. Just like when a child does something that is very harmful and we say "No!", we need some kind of fierceness. There's a certain kind of fierceness that can look like anger and has that fire of anger, but the difference is that it's not blinded with reactivity.
Dave hung up. And unplugged the phone. With a fierce and bitter pain he stared at it, watching how, over and over again, it didn't ring.
Whoever heard of an electric violin, electric cello or, for that matter, an electric singer?
They've hung everything on me except the Chicago fire.
Main Street, U.S.A. is America at the turn of the century--the crossroads of an era. The gas lamps and the electric lamp--the horse-drawn car and auto car. Main Street is everyone's hometown- the heart line of America.
We had an electrical fault about 500 miles into the trip and lost more than half our fuel. We had a fire on the roof. And missed Los Angeles by 3,500 miles at the end of the trip and ending up in the arctic in a snowstorm.
There's such a fierce intense fire burning inside of me, so much that it just wants to explode.
One afternoon, when I was four years old, my father came home, and he found me in the living room in front of a roaring fire, which made him very angry. Because we didn't have a fireplace.
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