Quotes About Sound

Sound, the blindman's cane of sense: I write death and for a moment I live within it. I inhabit its sound: a pneumatic cube of glass, vibrating on this page, vanishing among its echoes.

Colour is the touch of the eye, Music to the deaf, A word out of darkness.

Za nas je otkucaj sata, baš kao žuvor šadrvana u dvorištu džamije, odjek zakora?enja u ono što je u nama, a ne zvuk percepcije onoga što je oko nas.

Perhaps she could use the sounds, punctuate them with some of the other birdsong she had taped, but the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that sound was something to leave alone, that it was not the bulldozers nor the olive trees nor the buzzing strobe lights that needed attention, but the quietness itself.

Moom' and 'tomb' actually rhyme, which is something Dickinson hardly ever did, preferring near-rhymes such as 'mat/gate', 'tune/sun,' and 'balm/hermaphrodite.

It didn't sound like a nightingale," Terence said. "Nightingales sing of summer 'in full-throated ease and pour their souls abroad in ecstasy.' This didn't sound like that. Listen.

He sounded time-lagged, but probably wasn't. All of Lady Schrapnell's new recruits sound time-lagged.

The man could hear him playing. A formless music for the age to come. Or perhaps the last music on earth called up from out of the ashes of its ruin.

He looked at the boy. You wont shoot, he said. That's what you think. You aint got but two shells. Maybe just one. And they'll hear the shot. Yes they will. But you wont. How do you figure that? Because the bullet travels faster than sound. It will be in your brain before you can hear it. To hear it you will need a frontal lobe and things with names like colliculus and temporal gyrus and you wont have them anymore. They'll just be soup.

Una negrura como para que dolieran los oídos de escucha

thunder. You could feel it under your feet. A sound without cognate and so without description. Something imponderable shifting out there in the dark. The earth itself contracting with the cold. It did not come again.

He saw a tourist drunk laboring up the sidewalk carrying a full suit of armor. He saw a beautiful young woman vomit in the street. Dogs turned at the sound and ran toward her.

The trees were all encased in ice, limbless-looking where their black trunks rose in aureoles of lace, bright seafans shimmering in the wind and tinkling with an endless bell-like sound, a carillon in miniature, and glittering shards of ice falling in sporadic hail everywhere through the woods and marking the snow with incomprehensible runes.

Mo could paint pictures in the empty air with his voice alone.

Dustfinger closed his eyes and listened. He was home again.

My wife loves written words ... you know, words that stick to parchment and paper like dead flies, and it seems my father felt the same - but I want to hear words! Remember that when you are looking for the right words: You must ask yourself what they SOUND like! Glowing with passion, dark with sorrow, sweet with love, that's what I want. - Cosimo

Wie gross kleine Geraeusche in der Stille werden.

How loud small noises sound in a silence.

Do you remember the sound my heart made when it broke?

I want to see thirst In the syllables, Touch fire In the sound; Feel through the dark For the scream. Pablo Neruda, "Word," Five Decades T

SSSSSCCCCRRIIIIIIITCH!!!!!!!!!

She could hear a distant coughing of a sheep.

In front of the house was a huge old ash-tree. The west wind, sweeping from Derbyshire, caught the houses with full force, and the tree shrieked again. Morel liked it. It's music, he said. It sends me to sleep. But Paul and Arthur and Annie hated it. To Paul, it became an almost demonical noise.

For all I know God may be nothing more or nothing less than the sound of the moving water outside your window.