I thought poems were songs for people with bad voices.
Art is the act of doing work that matters while dancing with the voice in your head that screams for you to stop.
I speak and speak, [...] but the listener retains only the words he is expecting. [...] It is not the voice that commands the story: it is the ear.
Thoughts need words. Words need a voice.
Ambition is your inner voice that tells you, you can, and should, strive to go beyond your circumstances or situation in life.
Melody has a certain way that it projects back to you. It triggers certain nerves in your body and certain instincts that normally wouldn't be triggered by a normal voice.
Somebody once said I had a face for radio and a voice for newspapers.
Your Heart's Desire is the Voice of God, and that Voice must be obeyed sooner or later.
So a voice in the mountain is enough to let loose an avalanche. A word too much may be followed by a caving in. If the word had not been spoken, it would not have happened.
Reason is a faculty far larger than mere objective force. When either the political or the scientific discourse announces itself as the voice of reason, it is playing God, and should be spanked and stood in the corner.
One word, that's all you said and something in your voice caused me to turn my head. Your smile just captured me.
A voice can also repel, infuriate or actually make a listener ill.
I'm screaming at the top of my voice
I happen to believe the world will change only when we change ourselves. And that starts with finding ourselves: learning to quiet the clamor in our minds and the voices of everyone around us and move toward what feels right – toward the things we know, for reasons we can’t explain, that we’re mean to do, the things that makes us feel alive.
I’m a really big believer that we all have this voice inside of us, and that voice is God talking to us, and we are all magical, and we all have something as specific to do as our fingerprint. And everybody should go out and do that. And I think between the ages of 15 and 32, don’t worry about getting married, don’t worry about settling down, don’t worry about having a baby. Give birth to yourself.
Read to your children all of the time Novels and nursery rhymes Autobiographies, even the newspaper It doesn't mater; it's quality time Because once upon a time We grew up on stories in the voices in which they were told We need words to hold us and the world to behold us For us to truly know our souls
But it was in this moment, lying in bed late at night, that I first realized that the voice in my head—the running commentary that had dominated my field of consciousness since I could remember—was kind of an asshole.
A voice that was never wanted has become a voice for so many people who don’t have one.
"It wasn't the wine," murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a broken voice. "It was the salmon."
Now, I testify it is a small voice. It whispers, not shouts. And so you must be very quiet inside. That is why you may wisely fast when you want to listen. And that is why you will listen best when you feel, "Father, thy will, not mine, be done." You will have a feeling of "I want what you want." Then, the still small voice will seem as if it pierces you. It may make your bones to quake. More often it will make your heart burn within you, again softly, but with a burning which will lift and reassure.
All Profound things, and emotions of things are preceded and attended by Silence... Silence is the general consecration of the universe. Silence is the invisible laying on of the Divine Pontiff's hands upon the world. Silence is at once the most harmless and the most awful thing in all nature. It speaks of the Reserved Forces of Fate. Silence is the only Voice of our God.
Beauty from another world gave birth to your voice-- sent to rescue scorned hearts from traumatized nights.
The fire has its flame and praises God. The wind blows the flame and praises God. In the voice we hear the word which praises God. And the word, when heard, praises God. So all of creation is a song of praise to God.
Being young and trying to catch a glimpse of the depths, of the true self, of the soul, or whatever human beings have called it over the centuries, we often find ourselves surrounded by bossy, hectoring voices trying to short-circuit our personal experience by super-imposing their own disappointments. Much of this bossiness masquerades as an education.
We would like otherworldly visitations to come as distinct voices with clear instructions, but they may only give small signs in dreams, or as sudden hunches and insights that cannot be denied. They feel more as if they emerge from inside and steer you from within like an inner guardian angel. . . . And, most amazing, it has never forgotten you, although you may have spent most of your life ignoring it.
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