Best 4756 quotes in «voice quotes» category

I’m fulfilling my calling when I raise my voice concerning injustice

In most cases, verbal prayer alone does not change anything; when actions are branded with prayer, wonderful things happen. Actions alone do not make it as well; they lead to success when guided to labour by answered prayers. Pray and work!

In qualche luogo, non lontano, cantava una donna. Dove e da che parte, era difficile capire. Il canto sommesso, lento, malinconico, simile a un pianto e percepibile appena, si faceva udire ora a destra ora a sinistra, ora dall’alto, ora sembrava sottoterra, come se dovunque nella steppa si librasse uno spirito invisibile, e cantasse.

In solitude, you listen to the sacred voice.

In solitude, you listen to sacred voice.

I’m fulfilling my calling when I raise my voice for the truth

in the end it is words poetry. sunsets someone’s deep blue silk voice. mountain scents. someone’s smile. eyes. that we have no defenses against.

In your most desperate moments where you crawl on the ground like worms, sometimes you suddenly hear the voice of a savior, the voice of the Music which immediately carries you away to the stars!

I remember on one of my many visits with Thomas A. Edison, I brought up the question of Ingersoll. I asked this great genius what he thought of him, and he replied, 'He was grand.' I told Mr. Edison that I had been invited to deliver a radio address on Ingersoll, and would he be kind enough to write me a short appreciation of him. This he did, and a photostat of that letter is now a part of this house. In it you will read what Mr. Edison wrote. He said: 'I think that Ingersoll had all the attributes of a perfect man, and, in my opinion, no finer personality ever existed....' I mention this as an indication of the tremendous influence Ingersoll had upon the intellectual life of his time. To what extent did Ingersoll influence Edison? It was Thomas A. Edison's freedom from the narrow boundaries of theological dogma, and his thorough emancipation from the degrading and stultifying creed of Christianity, that made it possible for him to wrest from nature her most cherished secrets, and bequeath to the human race the richest of legacies. Mr. Edison told me that when Ingersoll visited his laboratories, he made a record of his voice, but stated that the reproductive devices of that time were not as good as those later developed, and, therefore, his magnificent voice was lost to posterity.

I thought a voice had to be about your fluency, your dexterity, your virtuosity. But in fact your voice could be about your failings, your falterings, your physical limits. The voices that ring hardest in our heads are not the perfect voices. They are the voices with an additional dimension, which is pain.

...it only takes one voice, at the right pitch, to start an avalanche.

It’s called an inner voice for a reason. It’s the gnawing feeling inside your stomach telling you yes or no. It’s the one voice in your life that isn’t tampered by other’s biased opinions, scars, feelings or thoughts. Go with it, you know yourself better than anyone ever does.

It's morning now, and I miss the soft rasp of her voice already. Ugh. I'm in trouble, aren't I?

It's not a silly pursuit to read beyond what's handed to you, to seek out new voices and leap over the usual books everyone's already talking about and see what you can find on your own. Making definitive choices about what we spend our time on as readers can make a statement, a difference. We can lift other writers up, give space and attention to more voices than the ones that already have all the space and attention. There is power in what we choose to consume as readers, and there is power in what we choose to amplify, celebrate, and share.

It's time to get healed. It's time to confess. Falling for the bait doesn't make you the worst person in the world. You were snared. You were hooked. But you don't have to stay that way. Now is the time to deal with the shackles that keep you enslaved. Today you can leave the prison that sexual immorality has created from your past mistakes. Hear your Father's voice call out to you above the noisy clamor of our culture. He says, "I love you. You're free to go now. Sexual sin has no hold on you.

It was a voice that you felt you had to listen to—or you ignored at your peril.

It was cold and barren. It was no longer the view that I remembered. The sunshine of her presence was far from me. The charm of her voice no longer murmured in my ear.

It was not my intention - it never was - to invent a character who should speak for me, the author, in person. A character is in a story to fill a role there, and the character's life along with its expression of life is defined by that surrounding - indeed is created by its own story. Yet, it seems to me now, years after I wrote The Golden Apples, that I did bring forth a character with whom I came to feel oddly in touch. She derived from what I already knew for myself, even felt I had always known. What I have put into her is my passion for my own life work, my own art. Exposing yourself to risk is a truth that Mrs. Eckhart and I had in common. What animates and possesses me is what drives Mrs. Eckhart, the love of her art and the love of giving it, the desire to give it until there is no more left. Of course any writer is in part all of his characters. How otherwise would they be known to him, occur to him, become what they are? In the making of her character out of my most inward and most deeply felt self, I would say I have found my voice in my own fiction.

It was surprising to think that in fact they were signs, that is, the ashes of an incinerated voice. Bunların gerçekte yazı işaretleri, yani yanan bir sesin külleri olduklarını düşünmek inanılmaz bir şeydi.

I used to listen to all the voices in my head that told me I wasn’t good enough, or that I would fail if I tried, or that everyone would judge me harshly for my truth. I used to let one fear or the other dictate how I chose to live my life. Not surprisingly, my life didn’t change much. I spent a lot of time with regret, and thinking about what could have been. I found myself wishing I’d at least tried to do some of the things I’d been so afraid to do. So I began to. I made the choice to hear all the fearful critics in my head without actually listening to them. I gave them a voice, but no longer a say. I had given all the power to my fear, after all, so it was within me to take it away. And my entire life changed, as every life does once we insist that our fears take a backseat to our courage and desire. Fear may not be a choice, but the commitment to take brave action, despite our fears, is always there for the choosing. I spent enough time obeying my fears. Too much time. Now I listen to different voices, the ones reminding me that no matter what happens, no matter what people think, the great potential of my life, and joy, lives within my commitment to live my life beyond my fear.

I wanted that uncaring, 'here's your blood and guts and your fucked-up happy ending' fairy-tale voice... And it was perfect. There are no lessons in it. There's just this harsh, horrible world touched with beautiful magic, where shitty things happen. And they don't happen for a reason, or in threes, or in a way that looks like justice. They're set in a place that has no rules and doesn't want any. And the author's voice... is perfectly pitiless. She's like a war reporter who doesn't give a fuck.

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 whimper, just as long as some kind of sound came from my lips.

Listen to the whispers you hear from within, give your soul the voice to be heard.

...listening with absorbed attention more to her voice than to what she was saying, and thinking how like she was, flowering through her voice into beauty in the darkness, to some butterflies he had come across in the Swiss mountains the summer before. When they were folded up they were grey, mothlike creatures that one might easily overlook, but directly they opened their wings they became the loveliest things in the world, all rose-colour or heavenly blue. So had she been to him in the daylight that afternoon,--an ordinary woman, not in any way noticeable; but now listen to her, opening into beauty on the wings of her voice!

Lord I thank you for the gift of breath, eyes to see, ears to hear, tongue to taste, nose to smell; mouth to speak, face to smile, voice to sing, body to dance, legs to walk, mind to think and hands to write.

Loud actions, small people, loud voice, small mouths, loud world, small minds.

Love is inaudible—until you hear it. And once you do, you’ll never forget the sound of her voice.

Love’s voice reverberates with forgiveness across the room of our heart

Make no mistake about it. We are born blind, deaf, and mute. It is neither these eyes that give us sight, nor these ears that give us sound. It is not even these lips that give us voice. It is only love. Love makes us seek beauty and truth. Love yearns to connect. To experience. To understand. So close your eyes at once. Don’t utter a word. Perk up your ears and listen to that silent sound inside you where all this is found.

Maybe sometimes it feels like “What impact can I have in this world? I am only one person and most people don't understand me.” But everyone can use their voice to say their something- through whatever medium that is. There will always be someone who understands your language and appreciates your message.

Me being an ant, at her mountain, I would have tried my best for my voice to reach her peak. But our timing was off, and she hid her pain as stars in clouds. If I had the chance, I would have saved her from all the truths and lies.

MOTHER IS WATER I wish I could Shower your head with flowers And anoint your feet with my tears, For I know I have caused you So much heartache, frustration and despair – Throughout my youthful years. I wish I could give you The remainder of my life To add to yours, Or simply erase The lines on your face, And mend all that has been torn. For next to God, You are the fire That has given light To the flame in each of my eyes. You are the fountain That nourished my growth, And from your chalice – Gave me life. Without the wetness of your love, The fragrance of your water, Or the trickling sounds of Your voice, I shall always feel thirsty.

Mpelelezi wa Tume ya Dunia kutoka Israeli Daniel Yehuda Ben-Asher Ebenezer, Mhebrania aliyeishi Givat Ram, Jerusalem, na mke wake mrembo Hadara na mtoto wake mzuri Navah Ebenezer, alikuwa Ukanda wa Gaza siku alipopigiwa simu na Kiongozi wa Kanda ya Asia-Australia ya Tume ya Dunia U Nanda – kutoka Copenhagen kuhusiana na wito wa haraka wa kuonana na Rais wa Tume ya Dunia. Yehuda aliondoka usiku kwenda Yangon, Myama, ambapo alionana na U Nanda na kupewa maelekezo yote ya kikazi aliyotakiwa kuyafuata. Mbali na maelekezo yote ya kikazi aliyotakiwa kuyafuata, Nanda alimkabidhi Yehuda kachero wa Kolonia Santita Mandi Dickson Santana (bila kujua kama Mandi ni kachero wa Kolonia Santita) ili amsindikize mpaka stendi ya mabasi ya Maubin, nje ya Yangon. Baada ya hapo Yehuda alisafiri mpaka Copenhagen ambapo yeye na wenzake walikabidhiwa Operation Devil Cross, ya kung’oa mizizi ya Kolonia Santita duniani kote. Yehuda alifanya kosa kubwa kuonana na kachero wa Kolonia Santita Mandi Santana! Kwa sababu hiyo, sauti na picha ya Yehuda vilichukuliwa, watu wengi walikufa katika miji ya Copenhagen na Mexico City.

My heart aches to just hear your voice!

My Keeper took everything from me: my home, my family, my voice. He made me powerless. But I'm home now. It may be split in two, but I have it back. My family may be broken, but I have it back. I have my voice back. I am not powerless anymore.

My love, you are driving the entire world mad. The nightingales are committing suicide one by one out of jealousy of your voice. The roses took one glance at your beauty and folded themselves from shame. The trees now only whisper your name and the sky hasn’t stopped crying since you looked up. Have pity on us, my love. We have already broken all the mirrors and glass out of fear that you will forget us and fall in love with yourself once you see what we all cannot stop seeing.

My mother's journals are a shadow play with mine. I am a woman wedded to words. Words cast a shadow. Without a shadow there is no depth. Without a shadow there is no substance. If we have no shadow, it means we are invisible. As long as I have a shadow, I am alive.

Nobody is born with a style or a voice. We don't come out of the womb knowing who we are. In the beginning, we learn by pretending to be our heroes. We learn by copying.

Obedience to God's voice relieves unnecessary burdens.

On your way to accomplish greatness, you will hear a lot of noise. Listen to your inner voice and never let the distraction of the crowd discolour your poise.

Open your mind and let the universe speak to you

Ordinary points of bravery, the synchronistic moments we all engage in, and the transformative power of minding our voices, forgiving, trusting, and learning to love ourselves and our lives, while we wait.

Our challenge as adults is to develop a strong voice that is uniquely our own, a voice that reflects our deepest values and convictions. Once we are comfortable within that voice, we can bring it to our most important relationships. We can choose to move to the center of a difficult conversation--or we can let it go. We can speak--or decide not to. Whatever we choose, we can head back to the sandbox with clarity, wisdom, and intention. By doing so, we can strengthen the self and our connections, and have the best chance of achieving happiness during our time with each other.

In facing our shattered life stories, we must reach deep inside our pain -- for it is here that we can break our silence and find our new voice.

Intuition is a sacred voice.

I play viola... but I'm really a singer." "That's not really what you are," she says frankly. Her directness startles me. "What do you mean?" It maybe what you do. But even a voice can be taken from you.

I remind myself of the fundamental notion of what it means to be a writer. A writer is the one who controls the narrative.

She remembers rehearsals. Wrong notes turning to right ones, dissonance becoming harmony. She remembers “O Holy Night” sounding so perfect, in the end, her voice wrapping itself around Jonah’s like they were created just for this. She remembers his smile at her from across their shared mic. She remembers getting asked to reprise her duet with Jonah a year later. Just after everything happened with Luke. But then Mr. Boyden took her aside. Told her that Jonah had backed out. He’d said he was too busy for extra rehearsals, but she knew: it was because of her. She saw it in Jonah’s face, in the way he avoided her eyes. She saw it in everyone else’s faces too. She was a bullet he’d just dodged. She remembers standing up for the solo she was given instead—her last performance before she quit choir. She remembers opening her mouth, nothing coming out. She’d cleared her throat, tried again. Her voice emerged, but all wrong: small and shaky and sharp. With everyone looking at her, with the rumors still swirling, she felt exposed. She felt small and shaky and sharp. Vulnerable, but made of angles and thorns.

It doesn't take long to persuade each other to stop seeing a person as a person. And when enough people are quiet for long enough, a handful of voices can give the impression that everyone is screaming.

It is through victims such as myself who still have a voice that the world will change to be a better place.