Quotes About Voice

I love my voice. But I'd be the first one to make a criticism of it, so I'm not the best person to critique because I'm pretty hard on myself.

I would love to sing opera.

I love Chrissie Hynde and Mick Jagger. Someone at Capitol pointed out how much my inflections are similar to Jagger's.

Elegimos aquellos que nos gusta, con los que amamos, no tenemos voz en el asunto.

I think, being a male singer, I always hate another great male singer's voice before I can love it, unless it's just really far from what I do.

Very timely too: Suddenly Shirley understood why her father had brought her 10,000 miles to live among strangers. Here, she did not have to wait for gray hairs to be considered wise. Here, she could speak up, question even the conduct of the President. Here, Shirley Temple Wong was somebody. She felt as if she had the power of ten tigers, as if she had grown as tall as the Statue of Liberty.

To remain silent would be to disconnect from her own experience, to swallow and internalize her own oppression. The cost of silence is too high.

The telephone," he wrote, "may be briefly described as an electrical contrivance for reproducing in different places the tones and articulations of a speaker's voice so that Conversations can be carried on by word of mouth between persons in different rooms, in different streets or in different Towns.… The great advantage it possesses over every other form of electrical apparatus is that it requires no skill to operate the instrument.

Even so, as was his custom, he writes the name in an abbreviated form: "Wllm Shaksp." It also has a large blot on the end of the surname, probably because of the comparatively low quality of the paper. Though it is only a deposition, it is also the only document in existence containing a transcript of Shakespeare speaking in his own voice.

Women don't want to hear what you think. Women want to hear what they think---in a deeper voice.

Whatever other resources you may have, you can always use your voice and your vote to effect change.

When i believe in everything, I could not see the actors semicircled around a studio microphone flipping the pages of scripts in unison. I only heard the voices, resonant, electric, adult, accusing each other of murder.

The tone of voice influences the wisest of us and alters the force of a speech or a poem.

Lay down the song you strum, And rest yourself 'neath the strength of strings No voice can hope to hum.

I've got to know that I'm singing something with truth to it. My songs are different than anybody else's songs. Other artists can get by on their voices and their style, but my songs speak volumes, and all I have to to is lay them down correctly, lyrically, and they'll do what they need to do.

All I'd ever done was sing songs that were dead straight and expressed powerful new realities. I had very little in common with and knew even less about a generation that I was supposed to be the voice of. I'd left my hometown only ten years earlier, wasn't vociferating the opinions of anybody. My destiny lay down the road with whatever life invited, had nothing to do with representing any kind of civilization. Being true to yourself, that was the thing.

It was annoying how her voice, though never loud, pursued him. No matter how vociferous were other voices, all about, he seemed unable to prevent himself from constantly recognizing hers.

You had the physical sensation Of someone's quiet voice beside you. It was my old prophetic voice Sounding, untouched by decay: "Farewell, azure of Transfiguration, Farewell, the Second Savior's gold. Ease with a woman's last caress The bitterness of my fatal hour.

putting on his funeral home voice, which made him sound like an NPR host.

When you speak your mind—and speak for those who need help—there's no more powerful way to be heard.

Hush, sir!" whispered the man, "Your voice. It is too loud. You will wake him up!" "Wake him up? Who?" "The man under the hedge, sir. He is a magician. Did you never hear that if you wake a magician before his time, you risk bringing his dreams out of his head into the world?" "And who knows what horrors he is dreaming of!" agreed another man, in a whisper.

In some African tribes, this would make us married, a dry male voice returned. Angel looked up. His arms reflexively gripping her waist, a tall, lean man with windswept black hair looked down at her with amused emerald eyes. In others, it would mean we're being prepared for supper

Is it the sea you hear in me? Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness? Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it. --from Elm, written 19 April 1962

I have stitched life into me like a rare organ --from Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices, written 1962