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.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
There was a train that would come by our house every night, and I'd hear the whistle blow. That is the sweetest memory I have.
It was a perfect night for a train. The occasional whistle told Louis of all the farewells he had ever known.
Ah, my dad's whistle. On holidays when I was a kid, we would all be off in the rock pools along the beach. When it came time to go, we'd hear the whistle and we'd all come running. Like dogs!
The fact of the matter is that the most unexpected and miraculous thing in my life was the arrival in it of poetry itself - as a vocation and an elevation almost.
He was like a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow.
But when Neil called, I have to say that my heart soared. And the reason was, because it said so much about his recovery... that he was coming back to the world of the living.
I used to love it when I walked down the street and construction workers would whistle.
Every night we all felt grateful to be there, stunned at the amount of people that are there, and stunned at their reactions. They go crazy; they know every lyric from eight years of age to eighty. It's unbelievable.
One of my real goals was to hear someone whistling a song I'd written.
After I had given up to go, the thoughts of the journey were often attended with unusual sadness, at which times my heart was frequently turned to the Lord with inward breathings for his heavenly support, that I might not fail to follow him wheresoever he might lead me.