Quotes About Sound

HORSES MOVING ON THE SNOW In winter through the damp grass around the house there are horses moving on the snow in the half-light they move quickly following the fence until the mist takes them completely and evening is the hollow sound of hooves in the south field.

Sound filled the room, a crystal melody that could lift any human heart and turn away any devil. It was "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake.

Snap. Ka-chunk. That's how I spell the sound of a doorknob turning.

I said I heard them, it's like a, like a chittering I guess. You hear it, you don't hear it really but you just get the sound in the middle of your head, like an itch. It's not so much like a swarm of bees but more like a crowd, a crowd at a concert because you can pick out words and, I say it out loud and it sounds insane, but you can hear them talking to each other, coordinating. And more than that, you can hear their hate.

They had puddled in the floorboards and they poured out onto the pavement like the jackpot from the Devil's slot machine, the bugs raining down with a sound like frying bacon.

There was a sound like a garbage bag of pudding dropped off a tall building onto a sidewalk. Robert had erupted, chunks slapping off the walls in every direction.

There was a sound like a garbage bag of pudding dropped off a tall building onto a sidewalk.

I heard a screeching like steam from a teapot, and realized it was me.

It was a shriek, like microphone feedback. But more organic and pained, like the sound a whale would make if it were on fire.

Other sounds, though quiet, would be painful to me and make me see colors, after which I would fight a metallic taste in my mouth.

the rustle of yellow skirts and the scent of lemon verbena.

The wind rose here, as plangent as a human voice crying out.

In the middle of the night I am awakened by a sound. I sit up abruptly in bed. I hear it again. It's music. Wait, it sounds like the ice cream man, in our house. Is this some kind of twisted nightmare? The flipping ice cream man, breaking in to chop us all up in our beds to the tune of 'Zippity Do Dah'?... My heart slows. I remember. There is no psycho ice cream man here. It is just our new musical soap dispenser...

The word just hangs, until Severin starts the blender and there's only the sound of crunching and grinding vitamins, the silvery core of nourishment, containing every essential thing but the nourishment itself.

The British like any kind of music so long as it is loud.

Let's play with sound, forget all knowledge and instrumental skills, and just use instinct – the same way punk did.

could almost hear piped-in

Dada is for dreams, colourful paper masks, kettle drums, sound poems, concretions, poem statiques, for things that are not far from picking flowers and making bouquets.

The sweetest of all sounds is that of the voice of the woman we love.

One can hear all that's going on in the street. Which means that from the street one can hear what's going on in this house.

The door made the usual, terrifying sound of a door.

les feuilles faisaient du bruit comme une robe de faille.

Whenever Gaubert felt bored, he took hold of the hammer with both hands, raised it, and struck the anvil. He went on like that, for no purpose, just for the sound, to hear the sound. His life was in each of those strokes. The sound of the anvil echoed through the countryside and sometimes came upon Panturle while he was hunting.

She doesn't scream, but she groans and the sounds she makes are beyond the pain and work of labor, beyond human—or even animal—life. They are the sounds that move the earth, the sounds that give voice to the deep, violent fissures in the bark of the redwoods. They are the sounds of splitting cells, of bonding atoms, the sounds of the waxing moon and the forming stars.