Quotes About Voices

Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world.

Totul în via?? este legat de vocile pe frecvenÈ›a c?rora te reglezi È™i de cele la care renunÈ›i.

I'd like to accept this on behalf of all the stories told and untold, the writers heard and unheard, from the remarkable continent I'm part of. Please keep listening to us, there's a lot more to come.

A Prayer for Joy" Help me, O God, To listen to what it is that makes my heart glad And to follow where it leads. May joy, not guilt, Your voice, not the voices of others, Your will, not my willfulness, Be the guides that lead me to my vocation. Help me to unearth the passions of my heart That lay buried in my youth. And help me to go over that ground again and again Until I can hold in my hands, Hold and treasure, Your calling on my life. —Ken Gire, Windows of the Soul

The idea of art as "access to independence and happiness" is a notion that speaks to my own experience. In art, you can find voices that channel your own life story better than you could ever express it yourself. And you can also find voices that introduce you to worlds you would never have otherwise visited. In a diverse republic such as ours, both of these inspirations are especially important.

In art, you can find voices that channel your own life story better than you could ever express it yourself. And you can also find voices that introduce you to worlds you would never have otherwise visited.

By the age of two, hearing children perceived their parents' deafness well enough to know automatically that they must use gestures with their parents and other deaf people. If the children talked at all, their voices had an unusual quality and they exaggerated their mouth movements. These same children immediately shifted gears, speaking in "normal" voices, with hearing people.

And the wind blew the echoes of long-faded voices And they'd sing me a song that the old cowboys sang And I didn't know what the words meant or anything I was just singing because I was supposed to

Writing is successful schizophrenia because I'm paid to hear voices in my head.

We imagine that we remember things as they were, while in fact all we carry into the future are fragments which reconstruct a wholly illusory past. That first death we witness will always be a murmur of voices down a corridor and a clock falling silent in the darkened room, the end of love is forever two spent cigarettes in a saucer and a white door closing.

Actually getting rid of the voices is extremely difficult because of the original rupturing of the interpersonal bridge and the resulting fantasy bond. As children are abandoned, and the more severely they are abandoned (neglected, abused, enmeshed), the more they create the illusion of connection with the parent. The illusion is what Robert Firestone calls the Fantasy Bond

Whatever we call them, all of us have some voices in our heads. Shame-based people especially have dominant, negative shaming, self-deprecating voices.

Actually getting rid of the voices is extremely difficult because of the original rupturing of the interpersonal bridge and the resulting fantasy bond. As children are abandoned, and the more severely they are abandoned (neglected, abused, enmeshed), the more they create the illusion of connection with the parent. The illusion is what Robert Firestone calls the "fantasy bond.

It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flatter; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship

Everywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach death; and the earth is full of those to whom death hath to be preached.

When darkness falls and eyes stay shutA chain of voices opens up.Let wax not wane give breath to death.p.s. Shhh" -Yvonne Woon(Dead Beautiful)

Sometimes the most negative voices in the room are the loudest and it's easy for them to drown out the rest.

And everyday I open a volume or two, read a few lines or pages, allow the voices of the forgotten dead to resonate inside my head. Do they sense it, these dead writers, when their books are read? Does a pinprick of light appear in their darkness? Is their soul stirred by the feather touch of another mind reading theirs? I do hope so. For it must be very lonely being dead.

And everyday I open a volume or two, read a few lines or pages, allow the voices of the forgotten dead to resonate inside my head. Do they sense it, these dead writers, when their books are read? Does a pinprick of light appear in their darkness? Is their soul stirred by the feather touch of another mind reading theirs?

In this century the writer has carried on a conversation with madness. We might almost say of the twentieth-century writer that he aspires to madness. Some have made it, of course, and they hold special places in our regard. To a writer, madness is a final distillation of self, a final editing down. It's the drowning out of false voices.

It seems that danger assigns to public voices the responsibility of a rhythm, as if in metrical units there is a coherence we can use to balance whatever senseless and furious event is about to come rushing around our heads.

The best products come from ignoring these competing voices and instead focusing on the true needs of the people who use the product.

In my short time in Washington I've seen firsthand how the system is broken. A small group of failed voices who think they know everything and understand everyone want to tell everybody else how to live and what to do and how to think. But you aren't going to let other people tell you what you believe, especially when you know that you're right.

which I thought was a gift, until it proved to be a curse. Life is all a matter of choosing which voices to tune in and which to tune out, a lesson I learned long before most people, but one that took me longer than most to put to good use.