Ultimately,we hear things because we cannot see everything.
It is also true that memory sometimes comes to him as a voice. It is a voice that speaks inside him, and it is not necessarily his own. It speaks to him in the way a voice might tell stories to a child, and yet at times this voice makes fun of him, or calls...
My voice has gotten me everything in my life, not my hair.
We know the quality of another’s heart through her voice.
Finding one’s voice is a process of finding one’s passion.
We are living in glorious days where each readers’ voice can be heard.
He says that woman speaks with nature. That she hears voices from under the earth. That wind blows in her ears and trees whisper to her. That the dead sing through her mouth and the cries of infants are clear to her. But for him this dialogue is over. He says he is not part...
A man’s style is his mind’s voice. Wooden minds, wooden voices.
Remind Youth: It is not necessary to look for confidence. It is there – potentially yours and never hidden; awaiting a commanding voice of faith, hope and affirmation. Speak repetitiously with authority and conviction the self-assurance which only seems lacking, but you simply lost touch with.
I’m like a hippie. At the end of the day, that’s what my voice caters to.
All the children in the school should learn the steps of everything, before they learn the thing, then they know which step they’re doing better, because your voice is in certain steps and has to do most of the things that have been composed in those steps.
Democratic power is the only voice most citizens have.
Her laughter changed her voice from wind chimes to the jingling of sleigh bells.
I wanted to scream as I stood there, my toes hanging over the edge of the dock. I wanted to let a gut-wrenching howl rip from my disfigured throat toward those clouded skies. I wanted to say every swear word my mother had ever taught me not to say.I would have settled for a cut-off...
I found my voice was a reaction to all that voice stuff.
whenever I heard her voice,i feel as morning of a day at any time in 24 hours.
It was hard for me to find my voice because I was, for so long, absorbed in my own world.
There is no good singing, there is only present and absent.
At first, he talked about the flowers in the garden behind his country house in Surrey. His voice still had its Midlands accent but was soft now and barely audible. He knew the plants by name and took a few minutes with each of them: ageratum, coreopsis, echinacea, rudbeckia. The yarrow, he said, had rose-red...