Quotes About Whispering

In politics practically everything you hear is scandal, and besides, the funny thing is that the things they are whispering ain't half has bad as the things they have been saying right out loud.

Satan knows what orders thou keepest in thy house and closet, and though he hath not a key to thy heart, yet he can stand in the next room to it, and lightly hear what is whispered there.

Cars they sound like waves that are breaking On some distant shore I gazed so hard into the great aching sky It seemed that I, I wasn't here no more That my rushing blood was a river My eyes two stars My blowing hair all a quiver A whispering field of grass That murmurs as you pass Oh my darlin' Kathleen That whispers out your name

All day long, year in and year out, that Presence fills our mirror-deep minds, whispering all its silence through us, replacing meaning/thought with the elemental beauty of meaninglessness, the clarity of the ten thousand things.

God's voice was not in the earthquake, Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes.

"Oh My God," I blurted, grabbing onto Phin as we faced the open bedroom door. "It's the axe murderer." "I doubt he would knock," she said, but she was whispering, too, and didn't move away from me.

'Mind and matter,' said the lady in the wig, 'glide swift into the vortex if immensity. Howls the sublime, and softly sleeps the calm Ideal, in the whispering chambers of Imagination.'

If you want your kids to listen to you, don't yell at them. Whisper. Make them lean in. My kids taught me that. And I do it with adults now.

...open the access to your heart and write down what your voice is whispering...

We are pushed towards eternal silence from the moment we are born. So when sadness tries to stifle us, we must not give in. We must keep whispering.

along the brittle treacherous bright streets of memory comes my heart,singing like an idiot,whispering like a drunken man

Hope Smiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering 'it will be happier'...

We've turned faith into a right to certitude when, in fact, this Trinitarian mystery is whispering quite the opposite: we have to live in exquisite, terrible humility before reality.

The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation.

The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude ; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation. The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.

From the table, far enough away that they thought I couldn't hear, Bintou whispered to Wasa, "I can't believe she talks to him like that!" "I'm going to learn to talk like that!" murmured Wasa. "I can't run about and hit people like Cat does, but I can become an orator like Cousin Bee. I'm going to become a hero and cause trouble all over everywhere!" "Girls!

Leslie was one of those people who sat quietly at her desk, never whispering or daydreaming or chewing gum, doing beautiful schoolwork, and yet her brain was so full of mischief that if the teacher could have once seen through that mask of perfection, she would have thrown her out in horror.

I grabbed her and held her close, whispering, "Shhh," as I kept looking and listening. Kenjii nudged me, as if to say, That's no welcome.

His silence helps him come off as something of a seer, a whispering muse.

HopeSmiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering 'it will be happier'...

Wade, aren't wingbacks a little much?" "Not considering how much time you spend sitting at your kitchen table. And face it, honey, this may scream 'formal,' but it's really whispering 'kitchen.

The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering-galleries, they are clearly heard at the end and by posterity.

Night winds in Georgia are vagrant poets, whispering.

The loneliness of the place had entered our very bones, and silence seemed natural, for after a bit the sound of our voices became a trifle unreal and forced; whispering would have been the fitting mode of communication, I felt, and the human voice, always rather absurd amid the roar of the elements, now carried with it something almost illegitimate. It was like talking out loud in church, or in some place where it was not lawful, perhaps not quite safe, to be overheard.