欧宝娱乐

“If he were a man of strong mind, it only gave him fits; but a person of mere average intellect it usually sent mad.”
― Jerome K. Jerome, Three Men in a Boat

“I knew a young fellow once, who was studying to play the bagpipes, and you would be surprised at the amount of opposition he had to contend with. Why, not even from the members of his own family did he receive what you could call active encouragement. His father was dead against the business from the beginning, and spoke quite unfeelingly on the subject.

My friend used to get up early in the morning to practise, but he had to give that plan up, because of his sister. She was somewhat religiously inclined, and she said it seemed such an awful thing to begin the day like that.

So he sat up at night instead, and played after the family had gone to bed, but that did not do, as it got the house such a bad name. People, going home late, would stop outside to listen, and then put it about all over the town, the next morning, that a fearful murder had been committed at Mr. Jefferson's the night before; and would describe how they had heard the victim's shrieks and the brutal oaths and curses of the murderer, followed by the prayer for mercy, and the last dying gurgle of the corpse.

So they let him practise in the day-time, in the back-kitchen with all the doors shut; but his more successful passages could generally be heard in the sitting-room, in spite of these precautions, and would affect his mother almost to tears.

She said it put her in mind of her poor father (he had been swallowed by a shark, poor man, while bathing off the coast of New Guinea - where the connection came in, she could not explain).

Then they knocked up a little place for him at the bottom of the garden, about quarter of a mile from the house, and made him take the machine down there when he wanted to work it; and sometimes a visitor would come to the house who knew nothing of the matter, and they would forget to tell him all about it, and caution him, and he would go out for a stroll round the garden and suddenly get within earshot of those bagpipes, without being prepared for it, or knowing what it was. If he were a man of strong mind, it only gave him fits; but a person of mere average intellect it usually sent mad.”
― Jerome K. Jerome, Three Men in a Boat

“New Rule: Stop calling bagpipes a musical instrument. They're actually a Scottish Breathalyzer test. You blow into one end, and if the sound that comes out the other end doesn't make you want to kill yourself--you're not drunk enough.”
― Bill Maher, The New New Rules: A Funny Look At How Everybody But Me Has Their Head Up Their Ass

“He had laid his head back until his scalp had contacted his spine, that far back, and opened his throat, and a sound rose in the auditorium like a wind coming from all four directions, low and terrifying, rumbling up from the ground beneath the floor, and it gathered into a roar that sucked at the hearing itself, and coalesced into a voice that penetrated into the sinuses, and finally into the very minds of those hearing it, taking itself higher and higher, more and more awful and beautiful, the originating ideal of all such sounds ever made, of the foghorn and the ship's horn, the locomotive's lonesome whistle, of opera singing and the music of flutes and the continuous moaning of bagpipes. And suddenly it all went black. And the time was gone forever.”
― Denis Johnson, Train Dreams

“Iain MacGregor,鈥� she whispered longingly, looking up. The woods were quiet. Strips of moonlight shone through tree limbs that reached like surreal black fingertips across her vision. A single tear slid down her cheek. She touched her mouth, imagining his kiss.
Taking a small pocket knife out of her cargo pants, she looked about. A mystic had once told her that if she left pieces of herself around while she lived, it would expand her haunting territory when she died. Jane wasn鈥檛 sure she believed in sideshow magic tricks鈥攐r the Old Magick as the mystic had spelled it on her sign. She had no idea what had possessed her to talk to the palm reader and ask about ghosts. Still, just in case, she was leaving her stamp all over the woods.
She cut her palm and pressed it to a nearby tree under a branch. Holding the wound to the rough bark stung at first, but then it made her feel better. This forest wouldn鈥檛 be a bad eternity.
The sound of running feet erupted behind her and she stiffened. No one ever came out here at night. She鈥檇 walked the woods hundreds of times. Her mind instantly went to the creepy girl ghosts chanting by the stream.
鈥淲丑辞辞丑辞辞!鈥�
Jane whipped around, startled as a streak of naked flesh sprinted past her. The Scottish voice was met with loud cheers from those who followed him. 鈥淲ater鈥檚 this way, lads, or my name isn鈥檛 Raibeart MacGregor, King of the Highlands!鈥�
Another naked man dashed through the forest after him. 鈥淚t smells of freedom.鈥�
Jane stayed hidden in the branches, undetected, with her hand pressed to the bark.
鈥淎ye, freedom from your proper Cait,鈥� Raibeart answered, his voice coming through the dark where he鈥檇 disappeared into the trees.
鈥淢urdoch, stop him before he reaches town. Cait will not teleport ya out of jail again,鈥� a third man yelled, not running quite so fast. 鈥淩aibeart, ya are goin鈥� the wrong way!鈥�
鈥淥ch, Angus, my Cait canna live without me,鈥� Murdoch, the second streaker, answered. 鈥淪he鈥檒l always come to my rescue.鈥�
鈥淚 said stop him, Murdoch, we鈥檙e new to this place.鈥� Angus skidded to a stop and lifted his jaw, as if sensing he was being watched. He looked in her direction and instantly covered his manhood as his eyes caught Jane鈥檚 shocked face in the tree limbs. 鈥淥h, lassie.鈥�
鈥淥h, naked man,鈥� Jane teased before she could stop herself.
鈥淭hat I am,鈥� Angus answered, 鈥渂ut there is an explanation for it.鈥�
鈥淚 don鈥檛 think some things need explained,鈥� Jane said.”
― Michelle M. Pillow, Spellbound

“Wail, wail, screech, wail, honk, honk, squeak went the bagpipes, increasing the captain's already considerable pleasure at the thought that any moment now they might stop.”
― Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

“Vain would be the attempt to describe Lady Juliana's horror and amazement at the hideous sounds that for the first time assailed her ear....
"It's impossible the bagpipe could frighten anybody," said Miss Jacky, in a high key; "nobody with common sense could be frightened at a bagpipe."...
Mrs. Douglas here mildly interposed, and soothed down the offended pride of the Highlanders by attributing Lady Juliana's agitation entirely to surprise. The word operated like a charm; all were ready to admit that it was a surprising thing when heard for the first time.”
― Susan Ferrier, Marriage

“Nothing gets me out of bed in the morning like the sound of bagpipes.”
― Ian Wilson

“Everyone of my readers, who is not a Scotsman, will appreciate the delicate musical taste of the bear, in the matter of bagpipes - Bruin cannot stand the skirling, and, in the illustration, seems to be remonstrating with the piper.”
― John Ashton, Curious Creatures in Zoology

“The Castle Of Fear by Stewart Stafford

The ghost sweated out from battlements,
Appeared bleeding into full-bodied shape,
The riddle of this phantom's raison d'锚tre,
Opaque as the spectre walked transparently.

The armour that clad the body blinded eyes,
The bagpipes it carried underarm deafened,
The steely gaze froze the viewer on the spot,
The sour odour it emitted made all nauseous.

The wraith's left foot piteously dragged behind,
Shuffling moans of pain, trailing the footsteps,
Banshee shrieks, harrowing to all that heard,
Dawn drained the strength, and it took flight.

漏 Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Bagpipes is a gey droll kind o' utensil; ye canna jist begin to play them the wye ye can a melodeon; they hae to be taken aside and argued wi', and half-throttled afore they'll dae onything wyse-like. They're awfu dour things, but they never hairmed onybody that never hairmed them. See, yonder's a chap that's got his pipes fine and tame noo; he's gaun on the platform to play something."'

The piper in question went on the platform and proceeded remorselessly to play a pibroch. Two very fat judges in kilts and a third in tartan knickerbockers sat on chairs beside the platform and took notes on sheets of paper as the pibroch unwound itself.

"What are they chaps daein'?" asked Duffy.

"They're judgin'" says Erchie. "I've seen Heilan' games afore. A' the prizes for bagpipe playin' gangs by points - ten points for the natest kilt; ten points for the richt wye o' cockin' yer bonnet; five points for no' gaun aff a'e tune on to anither; five points for the best pair o' leg for the kilt; five points for yer name bein' Campbell and the judges kennin' yer faither - thats the judges addin' up the points and wishin' they kent the tune he's playin'.”
― Neil Munro, Erchie, My Droll Friend

“The pipe-music filled the room with sound, until it seemed that the throbbing walls must burst asunder- or the very roof of the inn fly off, to release the pressure. The candle-light pranced around the room in a crazy reel of will-o鈥�-the-wisps, distorted by the clouds of dust melting down from the ceiling like Hebridean mist. The Highlanders looked at each other in wild surmise, then started smashing tankards against the walls in time with the swirling strains of music, sending ale cascading up into the air, spattering the ceiling and soaking the revellers鈥� hair and plaids.”
― Guy Winter, Tam: The Three Changelings

“While the native Americans certainly rolled up in their thousands... there is no doubt in my mind that the exiled Scots in the States had more to do with my success than many people imagined. The expatriated Caledonians sure rallied to my support during my earlier trips to Dollar-land. Not only so, they turned up at my shows in all manner of Scottish costumes in kilts, with Barmoral bonnets, wearing tartan ties. And many of them brought their bagpipes with them. They imparted an enthusiastic atmosphere to my appearances everywhere; their weird shouts and 'hoochs' and skirls provided good copy for the journalists, and next-day talking points for the natives. In the first twenty weeks I spent in the States I must have met personally ten thousand people who claimed acquaintance with me... I shook hands with them all... and presented signed postcards to one at least out of every fifty!”
― Harry Lauder, Roamin' in the Gloamin'