"Mocking" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... truly a land of awful darkness, and is made more dismal by the yelping of the jackal on the plain. The moon shines more brightly and beautifully than on Lukenga's plain. And the beauty is enhanced by the thousands of majestic palms, and the singing of birds with voices like the mocking bird and the nightingale. I have sat in front of my house moonlight nights until ...
— The Upward Path - A Reader For Colored Children • Various
... wanderings," continued the Quaker, raising his agitated eyes to heaven, "inflict not upon the bloodiest of our persecutors the unmitigated agony of my soul when I believed that all I had done and suffered for thee was at the instigation of a mocking fiend!—But I yielded not; I knelt down and wrestled with the tempter, while the scourge bit more fiercely into the flesh. My prayer was heard, and I went on in peace ...
— Twice Told Tales • Nathaniel Hawthorne
... tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor's edge invisible, Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen.' Come," he added, observing that Mr. Armstrong looked grave, "take my arm, and we will discuss some serious subject, together." So saying, he offered his arm to Faith, which she took, ...
— The Lost Hunter - A Tale of Early Times • John Turvill Adams
... end of the gangway opened, and the big Jutlander came out with a tiny coffin under his arm. He was singing a hymn in an indistinct voice, as he stood there waiting. In the side passage, behind the partition-wall, a boy's voice was mocking him. The Jutlander's face was red and swollen with crying, and the debauch of the night before was still heavy in his legs. Behind him came the mother, and now they went down the gangway with funeral steps; the woman's thin black shawl ...
— Pelle the Conqueror, Complete • Martin Andersen Nexo
... sadness with me wherever I go; a cold weariness, a discontent, a horror of life. Yes, I am lost for ever and ever. Before you stands a man who at thirty-five is disillusioned, wearied by fruitless efforts, burning with shame, and mocking at his own weakness. Oh, how my pride rebels against it all! What mad fury chokes me! [He staggers] I am staggering—my strength is failing me. Where is Matthew? Let him take ...
— Ivanoff - A Play • Anton Checkov
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