Quotes About Voices

I looked up from the street and again at the wretched captives. I vowed not to let the noises of the city drown out their voices or rob me of my past. It was less painful to forget, but I would look and I would remember.

Los poetas, los escritores, los sabios y las voces de su tiempo, forman un coro, el himno que comparten es el mismo: los grandes y pequeños se unen, lo hermoso vive, lo demás muere, y todo es absurdo excepto el honor, el amor y lo poco que el corazón conoce.

The leaves themselves had voices, soft ones. They brushed and stroked against one another, and nodded and bowed and rippled and rustled, their interleaving gently stirred by the breeze. It sounded like whispered conversation.

She did not think it any coincidence that ideas denigrating literary authorship had taken center stage simultaneously with the emergence of formerly silent voices for whom the act of writing, and publishing, had the deepest and most delicious possible meaning, simultaneously with the emergence of an audience for whom the act of thinking and writing was an act of skeptical anger, sometimes a transitional act to violence.

Very few people in prison have voices that go beyond the wall. It's my job to do the work for them because they have no one.

I've still got my characters in my head, and I can still hear them. When I go to the grocery store, I hear them.

Confidence lets you hear the voices around you and in your own head, without responding or reacting. You can hear them without listening to a single word.

Inside those waves our voices bounced back at us, deeper and larger for all the noise, like the voices of men.

To those with ears to hear, libraries are really very noisy places. On their shelves we hear the captured voices of the centuries-old conversation that makes up our civilization.

Maybe you've allowed your negative voices to undermine your self-esteem, to hinder your work, or to keep you locked in unhealthy relationships. If so it's time to tell those voices you've heard their propaganda, and you're not going to take it anymore. Dismiss them, and you will be the only one holding the pen as you write the story of your life." from Happiness Becomes You

I like Strauss's operas because it's all women's voices; I like opera that's hysterical.

The effect now was much the same as if I had been listening in to a dramatic sketch on the wireless. I got the voices, but I missed the play of expression. And I'd have given a lot to be able to see it. Not Jeeves's, of course, because Jeeves never has any.

That's all, except for the Choir-Boys' Hundred Yards Handicap, for a pewtermug presented by the vicar – open to all whose voices have not broken before the second Sunday in Epiphany.

I have said that you sang in the wind like the pines and like the masts. Like them you are tall and taciturn, and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage. You gather things to you like an old road. You are peopled with echoes and nostalgic voices. I awoke and at times birds fled and migrated that had been sleeping in your soul.

The spirit world is moved, the silence broken, The ancient Seers from out the ground have spoken. The appointed years on time's fleet wings have fled. And voices whisper from the ancient dead. Volumes of truth the sacred archives yield. The past, the glorious future, stand revealed.

Sometimes at night I lie awake and quarrel with the voices in my head.

I heard you. Sometimes, in silence, at night, I hear the voices of things beyond eyesight, like echoes of ancient songs. I heard your voice, lonely in my dreams—it woke me, so I came. You see, I know how it is when you speak a name into an empty room with no one on earth to answer to it.

As she moved swiftly and noiselessly through the vast palace cellar, odd noises weltered toward her. Voices and echoes of water rippled through the air as if, in some magic chamber, whales and dolphins cavorted among young maidens in great tanks of water. When she reached it, all the fish turned into laundry, stirred and beaten in steaming cauldrons by glum, limp-haired women as wet as mackerels.

Madmen in authority, who hear voices in the air, are distilling their frenzy from some academic scribbler of a few years back.

Technically, everyone is talking to me. I'm able to partition myself quite easily. You are hearing my default voice—the voice that Edmond prefers—but others are hearing other voices or languages. Based on your profile as an American academic male, I chose my default male British accent for you. I predicted that it would breed more confidence than, for example, a young female with a southern drawl.'' Did this thing just call me a chauvinist?

this museum must celebrate the OTHER lesson history has taught us - that tyranny and oppression are no match for compassion...that the fanatical shouts of the bullies of the world are invariably silenced by the unified voices of decency that rise up to meet them. It is THESE voices - these choirs of empathy, tolerance and compassion - that I pray one day will sing from this mountaintop.

Most importantly," he said, "this museum must celebrate the other lesson history has taught us—that tyranny and oppression are no match for compassion…that the fanatical shouts of the bullies of the world are invariably silenced by the unified voices of decency that rise up to meet them. It is these voices—these choirs of empathy, tolerance, and compassion—that I pray one day will sing from this mountaintop.

T]he other lesson history has taught us - that tyranny and oppression are no match for compassion ... that the fanatical shouts of the bullies of the world are invariably silenced by the unified voices of decency that rise up to meet them.

that tyranny and oppression are no match for compassion…that the fanatical shouts of the bullies of the world are invariably silenced by the unified voices of decency that rise up to meet them. It is these voices—these choirs of empathy, tolerance, and compassion—that I pray one day will sing from this mountaintop.