Quotes About Noise

Jack had a great respect for a man who could show good sport with a pack of hounds. Dillon obviously knew a great deal about hunting, and about horses; yet it was strange he should mind so little about the noise his dogs made, for the cry of a tuneful pack

Protection works and you need it. You need it because sound becomes painful around 125 dB. Short-tem exposure that is pretty certain to cause damage and hearing loss begins around 140 dB. Firearms? They run 145, 150, 160, 165 dB. Pick a number, it doesn't matter, you will lose hearing. A "quiet" 12-gauge load at 140 dB is going to damage your hearing a bit slower than a magnum at 165, but you will go deaf.

There is such a thing as everyday, ordinary, vulgar ecstasy; the ecstasy of anger, the ecstasy of speed at the wheel, the ecstasy of ear-splitting noise, ecstasy in the soccer stadium.

People seem to fight about things very unsuitable for fighting. They make a frightful noise in support of very quiet things. They knock each other about in the name of very fragile things.

He who establishes his argument by noise and command shows that his reason is weak.

The silence was pregnant with noise, with muted fury, with questions the father found too disgusting to frame and with answers to which the son was incapable of giving voice.

A woman is fascinated not by art but by the noise made by those in the field.

Music is the noise that surrounds the stillness of the art form.

If you call that music real noise

What, exactly, is the Internet? Basically it is a global network exchanging digitized data in such a way that any computer, anywhere, that is equipped with a device called a "modem" can make a noise like a duck choking on a kazoo.

So I should be aware of the dangers of self-consciousness, but at the same time, I'll be plowing through the fog of all these echoes, plowing through mixed metaphors, noise, and will try to show the core, which is still there, as a core, and is valid, despite the fog. The core is the core is the core. There is always the core, that can't be articulated. Only caricatured.

The easiest way to witness the stupidity and misplaced hopes of humanity is to watch, for twenty minutes, a human using a leaf blower. With this machine, the man was saying, I will murder all quiet. I will destroy the aural plane. And I will do so with a machine that performs a task far less efficiently than I could with a rake.

Outside the walls of the Circle, all was noise and struggle, failure and filth. But here, all had been perfected. The best people had made the best systems and the best systems had reaped funds, unlimited funds, that made possible this, the best place to work. And it was natural that it was so, Mae thought. Who else but utopians could make utopia?

Oh no. A leaf blower. The easiest way to witness the easiest way to witness the stupidity and misplaced hopes of all humanity is to watch, for twenty minutes, a human using a leaf blower. With this machine, the man was saying, I will murder all quiet. I will destroy the aural plane. And I will do so with a machine that performs a task far less efficiently than I could with a rake.

The easiest way to witness the stupidity and misplaced hopes of all humanity is to watch, for twenty minutes, a human being using a leaf blower.

The easiest way to witness the stupidity and misplaced hopes of all humanity is to watch, for twenty minutes, a human using a leaf blower. With this machine, the man was saying, I will murder all quiet. I will destroy the aural plane. And I will do so with a machine that performs a task far less efficiently than I could with a rake. Sam

It seems significant that we don't want things to be quiet, ever, anymore.

The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.

These are the ushers of Martius: before him He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears. Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie, Which being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.

Whence is that knocking? How is't with me when every noise appals me? What hands are here! Ha - they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood         Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.

That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face! If thou beest slain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.

To-morrow re than an illusion. It's like a poor actor who struts and worries for his hour on the stage and then is never heard from again. Life is a story told by an idiot, full of noise and emotional disturbance but devoid of meaning.

Jednak zasadniczy problem brzmi: Czy co? jest tam, na zewn?trz? I dlaczego? I czy musi tak ha?asowa??

Just as music is noise that makes sense, a painting is colour that makes sense, so a story is life that makes sense.