Quotes About Voice

Sistrunk had made a decision. If possible, they would commandeer the table used by the prosecution and plaintiff, the one closest to the jury, and assert themselves as the true voice of the proponents of the will. Jake Brigance would probably throw punches, but bring it on. It was time to establish proper roles, and since their client was the

LAST NITE I HAD A DREAM. NOW I KNOW FOUR THINGS. I KNOW THAT MY VOICE DOESN'T CHANGE – BUT I STILL DON'T KNOW WHY. I KNOW THAT I AM GOD'S INSTRUMENT. I KNOW WHEN I'M GOING TO DIE – AND NOW A DREAM HAS SHOWN ME HOW I'M GOING TO DIE. I'M GOING TO BE A HERO! I TRUST THAT GOD WILL HELP ME, BECAUSE WHAT I'M SUPPOSED TO DO LOOKS VERY HARD.

It was not necessarily what Ketchum might have said about the war in Iraq, or the never-ending mess in the Middle East, that particularly interested Danny or Six-Pack Pam. It was what Ketchum would have said about anything. It was the old logger's voice that Danny and Six-Pack wanted to hear. Thus we try to keep our heroes alive; hence we remember them

Bill is a fiction writer, but he writes in the first-person voice in a style that is tell-all confessional; in fact, his fiction sounds as much like a memoir as he can make it sound.

Amazing! said Mr. McSwiney. You've got a permanently fixed larynx, he told Owen. I've rarely seen such a thing, he said. Your voice box is never in repose - your Adam's apple sits up there in the position of a permanent scream. I could try giving you some exercises, but you might want to see a throat doctor; you might have to have surgery. I DON'T WANT TO HAVE SURGERY, I DON'T NEED ANY EXERCISES, said Owen Meany. IF GOD GAVE ME THIS VOICE, HE HAD A REASON, Owen said.

Well, that boy's voice," my grandmother told me, "that boy's voice could bring those mice back to life!" And it occurs to me now that Owen's voice was the voice of all those murdered mice, coming back to life—with a vengeance.

It was not only because he spoke their language; it was his voice that compelled the children to listen to him—it was a voice like their voices. That was why they trusted him, why they listened. "DOONG SA," he said, and they stopped crying.

SOON! NAM SOON!" All the children threw themselves on the floor—they covered their ears, they shut their eyes. "NOW I KNOW WHY MY VOICE NEVER CHANGES," Owen said to me. "DO YOU SEE WHY?" he asked me.

I know three things. I know that my voice doesn't change, and I know when I'm going to die. I wish I knew why my voice never changes, I wish I knew how I was going to die; but God has allowed me to know more than most people know—so I'm not complaining. The third thing I know is that I am God's instrument; I have faith that God will let me know what I'm supposed to do, and when I'm supposed to do it. Happy New Year!

I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice—not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother's death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.

I see, and sing by my own eyes inspired. O let me be thy Choir and make a moan Upon the midnight hours; Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet From swinged Censer teeming; Thy Shrine, thy Grove, thy Oracle, thy heat Of pale-mouthe'd Prophet dreaming! Yes, I will be thy Priest and build a fane In some untrodden region of my Mind, Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain Instead of pies shall murmer in the wind

A voice came sweeter, sweeter than all tune, And still it cried, 'Apollo! young Apollo! The morning-bright Apollo! young Apollo!

Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice. And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.

When I cannot sing my heart, I can only speak my mind.

Internal democracy in schools is as important in order to ensure the true democratization of education.

By the time you have a platform for saying what you want, you've already become part of the system. It's how it works.

The human voice is the first and most natural musical instrument, also the most emotional.

I can hear my brother's voice in my head. Your problem is that you're too emotional. But how can I not be emotional, Rowan? How can I not care?

The voice collects and translates your bad physical health, your emotional worries, your personal troubles.

I'm afraid my voice is going to break. I am afraid she is going to hear how much this hurts.

Even if I sing like a robot, it is still an emotional robot.

One has the right to be wrong in a democracy

Everyone _shouldn't_ have a say in whose life is worth fighting for.

I've always felt that the quality of the voice is where the real content of a song lies. Words only suggest an experience, but the voice is that experience.