Quotes About Voice

Elizabeth's voice had a door in it. When you opened that door you found another door, and that door opened yet another door. All the doors were nice and led out of her.

She wore a loose bathrobe that covered up a body that would have won first prize in a beauty contest for cement blocks.....She had a voice that made pearl harbour sound like a lullaby.

She had a voice that made Pearl Harbor seem like a lullaby.

Her voice, delicate as it was, had the strength to it that made one realize why a teacup can stay in one piece for centuries, defying the changes of history and the turmoil of man.

Self-expression is something that does not—and should not—ever stop.

Each of us has an inner compass. Its voice calls us to our highest good. Sometimes it requires that we alter a longstanding but stifling situation. It is difficult to face the severing or alteration of a relationship even when we know such change is for the highest good.

To be truly human, we all have the right to make art. We all have the right to write.

A la ira hay que escucharla. La ira es una voz, un grito, un ruego, una exigencia.

Where is the voice of freedom, / freedom to laugh, / to move / without the heavy phantom of despair? (From Farewell from Welfare Island)

Porque tengamos cerca de la muerte, un consuelo, Puerto Rico, mi patria, te reclama en su suelo, y por mi voz herida, se conduce hasta tí! Because near to death we will have one consolation, Puerto Rico, my homeland, clamors for you on its soil, and through my wounded voice, conveys itself to you! (A José Marti / To José Marti)

Silent or gagged women are powerless women. A powerful woman is one who can speak out to challenge existing power structures or to explore previously taboo territory.

The dirt," he says, his voice strangely peaceful. "What about it?" she asks. "It's dirty.

His voice surprised her: a baritone with the depth of a bell and deliciously frayed at the edges, it was like stumbling into a patch of sunlight on a relentlessly gray day.

She gazed up into his face, and he gazed down into hers as if she were a landscape he was inspecting for hidden enemies. Or perhaps hidden wonders. Lost. His voice lowered conspiratorially. Would you like your hand back? The right words to say were bobbing around somewhere in the syrup her brain had become; she couldn't quite fish them out. The truth was, at the moment, her hand seemed to rightly belong to him. As though it were a trophy he'd won for snatching arrows out of air.

I am not a poor child, Lady Eleanor, Madelyne announced, letting her anger sound in her voice. Duncan won't marry you. He won't sign the contracts. He'd have to give up his greatest treasure in order to marry you. And what be that treasure? Lady Eleanor inquired, her voice mild. Why, I'm Duncan's greatest treasure. He'd be a fool to give me up, she added. And even you must know that Duncan is anything but a fool.

Carter was so taken aback by her attack he dropped his knife. "You knocked him stupid," he bellowed. "No," Emily corrected in what she believed was a reasonable tone of voice. "He was already stupid. I knocked him out.

Judith, you sound horrible. What's the matter with your voice? Are you coming down with something? Judith shook her head. I'm all right. You sound like you swallowed a frog.

Oggigiorno, chiunque disponga di uno scalcinato laptop e di un accesso a Internet può fare sentire il proprio grido barbarico, qualunque sia il suo motore propulsore. Ma, sorpresa!, per ogni persona che ha qualcosa da dire sembra ci sia almeno qualcun altro disposto ad ascoltare. E, in qualche caso, non si tratta nemmeno di parenti.

Music was coming from a balcony at Frenchmen and Chartres, someone playing a saxophone. And then a voice. "This is Radio Marigny reporting from Atlantis. The bitch Katrina blew through Monday and now we're sunk. Also fucked. But we're dry in the Marigny and the Quarter! Everywhere else is underwater. The water's still rising, folks—where it stops, nobody knows.

I told you once," said Red, "that I wanted to hear your voice. I did not think the first words I would hear would be these." "Those were not the first words," I whispered, fighting tears. I would not weep.

Poetry is a political act because it involves telling the truth.

A woman with a voice like that should have the face of an angel, the body of a Greek sculpture, and the skills of a courtesan. Chances were, she was a haggard old crone. The hulking workman began to gather his tools. I hope ye and yer pa know what ye're doin'. Fop or no, no man takes well to losin' his belongings. Psht , the woman said airily. It's not as if we plan on knocking him in the head and peeling his pockets. That was something,at least, Dougal thought grimly.

To make matters worse, he added in a deep voice that made her shiver, I love turnips. It was indecent that the man could make a sentence as abhorrent as I love turnips sound like an improper proposition. But Dougal MacLean managed it.

Hatred can be pushed aside, but it will always whisper in your ear.