Quotes About Voice

The voice in my head was sounding more and more like Singer with every passing day.

His voice was a bare whisper, resonant of violoncello and the wind of midnight trees.

Keith could smell the emotions swirling behind Fyodor's impassive voice, the richness of fear and sorrow like old thick blood, the determination and the bright sharp steel of need. He breathed it deep and nodded.

His voice, softly cultured as ever, showed little of the emotional strain until he dropped his hands to his side and swore.

Its voice reached me as vibrations through the deck, through the air. It set my hairs prickling.

Peace, pussycat." There was-Christ-pride in Baines' voice; the tone was enough to make Kit wish he had something in his gut to vomit. "I'd rather burn a cathedral than see thee come to any lasting harm. What a waste of eighteen years' work that would be.

It's hard to punch a free-floating shipvoice, though, and whaling a bulkhead would look silly, send me spinning across the cabin, and hurt me more than it hurt Singer.

Golden wings, golden eyes, a dream of memory and warmth as Kit dropped to his knees, body clenched around a scream he was still too proud to give voice.

It is never about how good your voice is; it is only about feeling the urge to sing, and then having the courage to do it with the voice you are given.

Having gone through so many of the personal things I've gone through, its about creating an (online) space for girls to be heard. I don't profess to have all the answers. But Ask Elizabeth is a space where girls are not alone.

The tumult in the heart keeps asking questions And then it stops and undertakes to answer In the same tone of voice.

The tumult in the heart keeps asking questions. And then it stops and undertakes to answer in the same tone of voice. No one could tell the difference. Uninnocent, these conversations start, and then engage the senses, only half-meaning to. And then there is no choice, and then there is no sense; until a name and all its connotation are the same.

The happy passive nature, locked up with itself like a mirror in an airy room, reflects what goes on but demands not to be approached. A pact with life, a pact of immunity, appears to exist-But this pact is not respected for ever- a street accident, an overheard quarrel, a certain note in a voice, a face coming too close, a tree being blown down, someone's unjust fate- the peace tears right across.

She was a scrap of a widow, ever so plucky, just back from China, with damp little hands, a husky voice, and defective tear-ducts that gave her eyes always rather a swimmy look. She had a prostrated way of looking up at you, and that fluffy, bird's-nesty hair that hairpins get lost in.

He left her and looked round for his glass again. Meanwhile, he said to himself in a quoting voice: "We are minor in everything but our passions." "Wherever did you read that?" "Nowhere: I woke up and heard myself saying it, one night." "How pompous you were in the night. I'm so glad I was asleep.

To throw obstacles in the way of a complete education is like putting out the eyes; to deny the rights of property is like cutting off the hands. To refuse political equality is to rob the ostracized of all self-respect; of credit in the market place; of recompense in the world of work, of a voice in choosing those who make and administer the law, a choice in the jury before whom they are tried, and in the judge who decides their punishment.

Her hair gives dawn it's fire, her eyes give dusk her soul" He knew how to use his voice to melt a girl's heart, to make a girl want to believe. I steeled myself against the seductive words. "Excuse me?" "It's a line of poetry describing a beautiful girl, one who doesn't seem to know it.

I was grateful for the darkness that hid our faces at least, but nothing can hide the voice. It is always naked.

It sounded more like a chant than a proper song—it did not stray from the few staggered notes that rose and fell with the tenor of his voice. It was beautiful and haunting and it seemed to reach into my chest and twist my heart in a painful vise. I wanted him to stop. But when he stopped, I was sorry.

The whole universe was stilled as if listening for a voice. For the space of one heartbeat there was peace on earth. For one fraction of a moment there was no deed of violence wrought on earth, no hatred, no fire, no whirlwind, no pain, no fear. Existence rested against the heart of God, then sighed and journeyed again.

We look so very different from the way we sound. It's a shock, similar to hearing your own voice for the first time, when you're forced to wonder how the rest of you comes across if you sound nothing like the way you think you sound. You feel dislodged from the old shoe of yourself.

her voice sounded like a tarnished silver spoon.

Charity groped for the phone, coming up with it at last and croaking "hello" in a voice that sounded exactly like a bullfrog's mating call. Which made a kind of twisted sense -- last night she'd been hunting for a mate as well.

Only people who claim their own voice can hear the true song of another.