Quotes About Hum

The sound of pencils taking notes provided a low scrape and hum, almost like radio interference.

The basic 110-volt AC power line moves the electrons at 60 cycles. If a transformer is close to the power source (and all speakers have transformers), the 60 cycles produce an audible hum. Crackling, caused by dirt on the sound head, can also be heard.

Her life was invariable, like a low hum; and it was watched over by her mother, who, when Edith was a child, would sit for hours watching her paint her pictures or play her piano, as if no other occupation were possible for either of them.

the children could tell, because they could hear the hum of

Loneliness doesn't exist on any single plane of consciousness. It's generally a low throb, barely audible, like the hum of a Mercedes engine in park, but every so often the demands of the highway call for a burst of acceleration, and the hum becomes a thunderous, elemental roar, and once again you're reminded of what this baby's carrying under the hood.

I love music. I like to sing. But I am not a singer. I hum.

Rin slept inside the oak's thought. Its own memories of weather and growth continued to hum, and like a pond, its stillness reflected back herself.

I missed Rosaleen's snoring the way you'd miss the sound of the ocean waves after you've gotten used to sleeping with them. I didn't realize how it had comforted me. Quiteness has a strange, spongy hum that can nearly break your eardrums.

Quietness has a strange, spongy hum that can nearly break your eardrums

That night in my bed, when I closed my eyes, bee hum ran through my body. Ran through the whole earth. It was the oldest sound there was. Souls flying away.

That night in my bed in the honey house, when I closed my eyes, bee hum ran through my body. Ran through the whole earth. It was the oldest sound there was. Souls flying away.

Lay down the song you strum, And rest yourself 'neath the strength of strings No voice can hope to hum.

Then he heard the hum. Vibrating in consonance with one of the tones of the ocean's churning, it slid in and out of perceptibility in the way that the landscape disappeared in the mist. But by stilling his breath and, to some degree, his jumping pulse, Jonathan was able to pick it out, the low continuo in the cantata of sea and wind.

For most people, most of the time, the media are little more than a background hum. . .

Pattern, you're to be our chaperone tonight." "What," Pattern said with a hum, "is a chaperone?" "That is someone who watches two young people when they are together, to make certain they don't do anything inappropriate." "Inappropriate?" Pattern said. "Such as . . . dividing by zero?

I play songs that have only the pattern of my self in them and you hum along suporting me. You are the companion to myself. The mirror with my mother'e eyes.

The truth is there's always a hum of people playing folk music in cities.

At one point a research firm was called in to do a study of the excessive, inescapable noise, and they concluded that the hum of the air conditioner was so bothersome because there weren't enough competing noises — so they fixed the machines to make them give off a loud, continual hiss. In Greenblatt's words, this change "was not a win," and the constant hiss made the long hours on the ninth floor rather nerve-racking for some. Add

The city hummed and rustled with secret life.

He imagined the fervid hum of the city above them, the constant buzz and surge of business and activity, and Irene drifting through it like a single butterfly with a pack of wolves on her tail. The image lacked poetic balance, and he frowned. 'What chases butterflies?' he asked. Evariste glanced at him sidelong. 'What the hell does that have to do with anything?' he asked. Kai looked back in disdain. 'Poetic metaphor,' he said.

When I feel comfortable, I just like to sing and hum, and I don't even know I'm doing it. But sometimes someone will come over to me like, 'I love that song you were singing, but it's distracting.'

Constellations of thought hard wired to the universal energies between us resonate as a familiar hum that gently vibrates to caress my soul.

I know it's trash: just another story made up to scare wicked females and correct unruly children. But it's all I have. I know I need something else. Something better. Like a story that shows how brazen women can take a good man down. I can hum to that.

But something is always impelling one to hum vibrating, like the hawk moth, at the mouth of the cavern of mystery.