Quotes About Voice

What even is a voice? It's the sound one makes with one's larynx. The way one makes oneself heard. Breath, vibration, a style of narration. Phrasing. And when you're singing from your bones and bowels, these things don't need explaining. Everyone can feel it in their bones and bowels, animals and plants included. An unpasteurized experience. Honesty is the ultimate life giver. What would you do with all the energy you'd save if you never had to lie?

Baby: an alimentary canal with a loud voice at one end and no responsibility at the other.

Using the voice is a physical act, one that first announces the existence of the body of residence and then trumpets its arrival in a public space.

It surprised him that his own voice came out a clear, resonant tenor, and not a thready pain-choked whine.

Baines smiled, voice like a velvet glove across the back of Kit's neck.

He blinked, voice grinding if the words were buried somewhere very deep and he had to go after them.

His true voice rang Kit like a bell, with a sensation of flying. Or falling.

Elspeth chuckles, that half-swallowed ironic laugh I've got so fond of, and lowers her voice.

Kit's voice stayed level, amused, but there was a honeyed rasp in it that Will knew for sheerest hatred.

He sailed forward, the dark iron in his hand burning like a spear of light, a voice like a choir of falcons bellowing Lucifer's name somehow rising in his throat and everything a fury of gold-barred black and searing light.

Funny how Tristen's voice-nasal, a bit rough still though regaining its strength-had the power to comfort her.

A strange twilight strangled the city's voice to desperate murmurs as every foot paused, every voice hushed, every eye lifted and quickly fell again, unable to bear the light of even a half-occluded sun.

A voice for a moment he mistook for his own defiant tones, the spiked irony he saved for moments of abject vulnerability.

A voice like brushed silk, and there would be no mistaking this one for his own, or for that of Mehiel.

When you can sound like anything you like, why not sound like something pleasant?

Her voice sounded hurt. The emotion might even be real. People are complicated.

Years of practice kept the ironic tinge from her voice.

His voice held wonder and worry when he spoke at last.

The voice resonated, a sound like the wind scraping the corners of old buildings and racing down the narrow streets.

The Queen's voice had dropped, softened. Carel recognized it: the voice of the woman, not the Queen, unheard in seven years. In another circumstance, she might have found it beautiful.

It was a smooth voice, androgynous, and cultured, unexpected.

She fell under the density of the Dragon's presence, ducking her face toward bedrock. Carven stone scored her palms; the heat of blood smeared the petals on the bas-relief biers. She managed one breath, and then another, and then her voice.

Will pitched his voice low, a servant's deference, and hoped Salisbury's expansive mode continued, although he dreaded to learn the source of it.

Hot breath surrounded her, fragrant of summer. The voice was tolerant and amused, maternal in its enormity