Quotes About Voices

voice said. "Doesn't that hurt now that he's coming around?" a second female voice asked.

Out of silence I begin to hear the voices of characters whispering snippets of a story to me.

The generations of lives, experiences, and voices of marginalized and silenced Americans offer an array of diverse interpretations of U.S. history that have largely gone unheard, unacknowledged, and unrewarded. Without their perspectives, we are presented with an incomplete and incongruent story that is at best a disservice to the historical record and at worst a means of maintaining an unjust status quo.

In the dark, every voice could be the voice of an ancestor or a spirit guide. In the darkness, who can tell the living from the dead?

Everybody favors free speech in the slack moments when no axes are being ground.

Everything is ferns, leaf mold, the crackle of fire, and the hum of distant voices.

Like cicadas, which sit upon a tree in the forest and pour out their piping voices, so the leaders of the Trojans were sitting on the tower.

The awkwardness over the letter was just because of the innate awkwardness of all long-distance phone calls. They were unnatural. You were on opposite sides of the world, at opposite ends of the day, so you couldn't quite synchronize your voices: one person too upbeat, the other too mellow. Opening the letter would not result in

the innate awkwardness of all long-distance phone calls. They were unnatural. You were on opposite sides of the world, at opposite ends of the day, so you couldn't quite synchronize your voices: one person too upbeat, the other too mellow.

It's not necessarily a large number of people that affect the culture. You don't count the number of influential voices, you weigh them. A hundred people can affect the culture.

The only place their voices were left was in my head. It was better than being alone but it was so, so lonely.

She climbed, and climbed. The tower vibrated slightly, perhaps because its height made the wind a stroking hand upon its string. Half-heard cries, ragged whispers, soft slithering sounds echoed from the stone walls. The Speaking Tower, it was called, for here Summer could listen to the voices of her subjects, their wishes and fears seeping from rough mauve rock. The outside was white-and-greenstone, but the inside of the Speaking was a pink throat.

My dad knows how to tell a story. He'd make me laugh by doing all the different voices.

You just have to pay attention. If you don't, you'll miss them, or see something else--something you expected to see rather than what was really there. Faerie voices become just the wind, a bodach ... scurrying across the street becomes just a piece of litter caught in the backwash of a bus.

I think it's really important for celebrities to use their power of money and fame to get their voices out there. It's funny to me that we're expected to keep quiet just because of who we are. Why do I lose my right to speak my mind because I'm famous?

If the writers all come from the same backgrounds, you are going to get the same sorts of characters. Get a broader variety of writers, and you get a bigger range of stories.

Oh, the symphonic shriek of a thousand hiding voices, the cry of the need inside, the entity, the silent watcher, the cold quiet thing, the one that laughs, the moondancer. The me that was not me, the thing that mocked and laughed and calling with its hunger.

Somewhere far away, sitting on a cloud perhaps, there must be some whimsical dark deity that really likes me, because just before I let frustration push me into stupidity, I dimly hear the voices of the soccer players, calling out in three languages to look out, mister! And before I can even realize that I am the only mister in the area, the soccer ball thumps into my head, bounces up into the air, and then rolls across the street. I

Saw groups of men, some huddled in intense conversation, others waving big cigars, broad-chested men with loud voices, proclaiming their opinions with the mindless flourish of those who share no responsibility for the consequences of their grand ideas.

Newspapers are a great place for cowards and malcontents to have their say.

The humming of my parents' voices from behind my bedroom wall, which throughout my childhood had filled me with a sense of security, had now become a source of anxiety and panic.

Hostility, Cal said. It's deja vu all over again. How's your head? The pain comes and goes, Min said. And then there are the voices.

Social media means we're listening to different voices. It's not just the same old powerful white men who all went to the same places for college. It means everyone gets a soapbox. And if you've got something important to say, you can get people to listen.

It was a glorious night. The moon had sunk, and left the quiet earth alone with the stars. It seemed as if, in the silence and the hush, while we her children slept, they were talking with her, their sister—conversing of mighty mysteries in voices too vast and deep for childish human ears to catch the sound. They