Screaming Trees Quotes & Sayings

She tore off his grip, and then she was walking out the kitchen door, across the courtyard, through the ward-stones, and along the invisible barrier- until she found a spot just out of sight of the fortress.
The world was full of screaming and wailing, so loud she drowned in it.
Celaena did not utter a sound as she unleashed her magic on the barrier, a blast that shook the trees and set the earth rumbling. She fed her power into the invisible wall, begging the ancient stones to take it, to use it. The wards, as if sensing her intent, devoured her power whole, absorbing every last ember until it flickered, hungry for more.
So she burned and burned and burned. — Sarah J. Maas

Metallic trees. That's new. If you see any steel dryads, be sure to tell me so I can run away screaming. — Julie Kagawa

[Roland] jerked back too fast to see, and his fist was suddenly connecting with my chin. I didn't pass out, but my body went limp. Part of me was screaming silently. The other part was saying, 'Oh, what pretty trees. — Laurell K. Hamilton

There are times I feel like I'm the kid screaming at the bottom of the well, and my dog runs off to pee on trees instead of getting help. — Neal Shusterman

It was one of those winter days that suddenly dream of spring, when the sky is blue and soft and clear, and the wind has dropped its voice and whispers instead of screaming, and the sun is out and the trees look surprised, and over everything there is the faintest, palest tint of green. — Shirley Jackson

Marco smiles, they shake hands, and Robert Blackfeather Sherman sees it again, as he did when Marco knelt before him just a few minutes ago: The light warps around Marco Angelo Oliveira; the colors of the trees and sky stretch and smear, as if Marco is an empty place in the shape of a man and the earth and air around him are screaming to fill it. — Brian Francis Slattery

I wondered if I would appear on a temple wall painting someday. A blonde Egyptian girl with purple highlights running sideways through the palm trees, screaming "Yikes!" in hieroglyphics as Neith chased after me. The thought of some poor archaeologist trying to figure that out almost lifted my spirits. — Rick Riordan

How did I do that to her? Her? Punching trees and screaming? She must have been terrified.
Soon his hands would heal, so he might forget the pain he'd caused her. He'd left her in the woods. Left her. Watching her find her car and punch it with the same delicate hand she'd put so trustingly in his was too much. — Debra Anastasia

How mighty you are as death comes upon you and your color fades. Yet from life and lush to bold array, screaming into the night. — Kellie Elmore

They whirled past the dark trees, as feathers would be swept before a hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, hay-stacks, objects of every kind they shot by, with a velocity and noise like roaring waters suddenly let loose. Still the noise of pursuit grew louder, and still my uncle could hear the young lady wildly screaming, "Faster! Faster!" — Charles Dickens

A cold wind raced across the surrounding fields of wild grass, turning the land into a heaving dark-green ocean. It sighed up through the branches of cherry trees and rattled the thick leaves. Sometimes a cherry would break loose, tumble in the gale, fall and split, filling the night with its fragrance. The air was iron and loam and growth.
He walked and tried to pull these things into his lungs, the silence and coolness of them.
But someone was screaming, deep inside him. Someone was talking. ("Hunger") — Charles Beaumont

As we passed this living cruelty, I shuddered in momentarily isolation and then let out an audible gasp at what I saw. They were hanging from trees! Some shaking violently, with their intestines hanging out of their bodies! Those who were still partly alive were screaming with pain, and wriggling on the branches trying to get off the ropes ... some had fallen off the branches of the trees, they were crawling along the ground, and towards us. — Alfred Nestor

In a rush, the world opened its mouth to her - and it was screaming.
Everywhere - the air around her, the ground beneath her, the stars above - rippled with the soul-wrenching cries of
hunger: the trees and bushes and plants all twisted and bent, their branches and stems clawing the sky in skeletal panic; the
animals and insects, flying and crawling and burrowing, each frantic in its own way, searching incessantly to end the gnawing
demand in its belly; the swarms of people, clotting the world, stuffing themselves only to beg for more, be it food or wealth or
attention - all of them, desperate, insatiable. So very hungry.
All of them, leeching on to her. Sucking her dry. — Jackie Morse Kessler

If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason. — Jack Handy

We are all one tiny truth from screaming madly at the sky and walking home mumbling about trees. — Alexx Bollen

What the fuck is that?" I ask Uncle Drew as he walks up to us. "That, my little asshole, is a screaming goat. Molly showed me this awesome video on YouTube and I had to get one," Uncle Drew says with a huge smile. "GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Uncle Drew turns around and points proudly to a little black and white goat tied to one of Aunt Liz and Uncle Jim's trees. "Isn't she cute? Her name is Taylor Swift." "GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" the goat screams as she looks right at us. "I don't even understand what is happening right now," I reply with a shake of my head. "I've been trying to teach her - " "GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" "How to sing a - " "GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" "Song, but she never comes in at the right - " "GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! — Tara Sivec

O Dionysus, we feel you near,
stirring like molten lava
under the ravaged earth,
flowing from the wounds of your trees
in tears of sap,
screaming with the rage
of your hunted beasts. — Euripides

Ahead, twin rows of crape myrtles dot the road. They're losing their flowers. Purple petals ring the trunks, fallen mementos of a past bloom like photos from college years. But unlike people, trees flower again in the spring; they age in great looping circles. We ride a roller coaster once around, shuddering up clacking tracks and then screaming our fool heads off all the way down. — Hugh Howey

Action exploded to his left, movement busting from the trees. The attack came from the north, charging from the slope and the tree line. Ahead of it was a solitary rider, a scout, racing flat out over the grass. The Regent's men were on them, and Laurent wasn't within a hundred miles of the battle. Laurent had never planned to come.
That was what the scout was screaming, right before an arrow took him in the back. — C.S. Pacat

February
Boris Pasternak
It's February. Get ink. Weep.
Write the heart out about it, sing
Another song of February
While raucous slush burns black with spring.
Six grivnas* for a buggy ride
Past booming bells, on screaming gears,
Out to a place where drizzles fall
Louder than any ink or tears
Where like a flock of charcoal pears,
A thousand blackbirds, ripped awry
From trees to puddles, knock dry grief
Into the deep end of the eye.
A thaw patch blackens underfoot.
The wind is gutted with a scream.
True verses are the most haphazard,
Rhyming the heart out on a theme.
*Grivna: a unit of currency. — Boris Pasternak