Quotes About Voice

I want a place. It has to do with the kind of person I want to be. And how I fit in to everything. I want people to listen when I open my mouth. And know I'm worth listening to." She stared at me. "That's all?" To me it was not all, it was everything.

we are called to be disciples of a Rabbi who is always on the move, one who wants us to go with him, making disciples to the ends of the earth. We need to learn how to recognize his voice, to go where he wants us to go, and to serve and imitate him so that we can share his good news with the world.

It was generally believed, said Theophilus, that Orpheus learned his music from the birds. His small voice, piping after theirs, filled with all the secret stories of the earth.

There is never any hint of the crowd splitting into factions; the Gospel writers give them one loud hectoring voice. Some commentators suppose they did this to spread the supposed guilt of the Jews evenly and universally; there were no dissenters.

I defend Not my voice, but my silence

And this tenderness was not like That which a certain poet At the beginning of the century called true And, for some reason, quiet. No, not at all— It rang out, like the first waterfall, It crunched like the crust of bluish ice And it prayed with a swanlike voice, And it broke down right before our eyes.

Could Beatrice have written like Dante, or Laura have glorified love's pain? I set the style for women's speech. God help me shut them up again!

They soar, they are somewhere mid-flight, The words of love and liberation And I'm succumbing to stage-fright, My lips – ice cold in trepidation. But soon, where birches, thin and humble, Caress the windows with their leaves, - The voice of the unseen will rumble And roses will be tied in wreaths.

Place down the poison right before me To take my voice out of my chest And wash away my shameful glory Into the gleaming nothingness.

I had no idea that you would come up with this mad scheme. How did you enlist your mother in your wickedness? What lies did you tell her?" "None. From the first, my mother has known exactly who you are." His nonchalant reply knotted her stomach with shame and anger. How could he be so careless of her reputation? "Your mistress?" After a fraught pause, Lachlan's voice emerged deep and steady. "The woman I want to marry.

She whipped her head around in his direction. Light dazzled her. All she could make out was a tall figure with broad shoulders. But she heard the voice clearly. A deep voice smooth and rich as the cream she scooped from the new milk on her farm in Yorkshire. That beautiful cultured baritone frightened her more than all Monks and Filey's ribald situations.

Tell me more about your home. I can hear in your voice how you love it." He smiled. "You'd love it, too, mo chridhe." "What do you call me?" He wasn't quite ready to tell her, so he pretended not to hear the question.

Miriam is upset. Her voice is stretched and I can't look at her. Perhaps they beat something out of her she didn't get back.

Die menschliche Stimme ist das schönste Instrument überhaupt, das ergreifendste. Selbst der größte Virtuose der Welt würde niemals auch nur ein Viertel der Hälfte an Emotionen auslösen wie eine schöne Stimme.

The human voice is the most beautiful instrument of all, the most moving... And even the greatest virtuoso in the world will never be able to give you even a fraction of the emotion that a beautiful voice can give you. That is our share of the divine.

Pour le moment, elle entendait encore le son de sa voix, mais... Jusqu'à quand?

I don't write poetry when I wish, I write when I can't, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.

The ultimate act of bravery does not take place on a battlefield. It takes place in your heart, when you have the courage to honor your character, your intellect, your inclinations and yes, your soul by listening to its clean, clear voice of direction instead of following the muddied messages of a timid world.

His voice shifted into a sexual purr. "I love you. And I've waited a lifetime to be your lover. But you were too young, Lady." She raised her head, her body stiff with dignity. "I wasn't too young here, in the abyss." Slowly, he continued moving around the altar. "Your body had been violated. Your mind had shattered. But even if that hadn't been the case, you were still too young—even here in the abyss.

Madness and witchery as well as bestiality are conditions commonly associated with the use of the female voice in public.

Your voice I know. It had me terrified. When I hear it in dreams, from time to time all my life, it sounds like a taunt—but dreams distort sound, for they send it over many waters. During these hard days, I, a pilgrim, am giving my consideration to this. I trudge along the bottom of the river and the questioning goes on in me. What are we made of but hunger and rage? His heels rise and fall in front of me. How surprised I am to be entangled in the knowledge of some other animal.

Isaiah go home and get some sleep, said God. Isaiah went home, slept, woke again. Isaiah felt a sensation below the neck, it was a silk and bitter sensation. Isaiah looked down. It was milk forcing the nipples open. Isaiah was more than whole. I am not with you am in you, said the muffled white voice of God.

Oh sweetie, he says. He is using his inside voice, his most inside voice. The distance between that voice and the fight voice measures your whole world.

Muses are fickle, and many a writer, peering into the voice, has escaped paralysis by ascribing the creative responsibility to a talisman: a lucky charm, a brand of paper, but most often a writing instrument. Am I writing well? Thank my pen. Am I writing badly? Don't blame me blame my pen. By such displacements does the fearful imagination defend itself.