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Sounds Quotes

Browse 75 quotes about Sounds.

Sounds Quotes

“What do scissors sound like? What did they say? Sly and steely, they started softly, a small susurration that quickly grew, whispering and slicing, hissing and metallic, forming what sounded more like human words, in a language Benny took to be Chinese, although he couldn't be sure. He didn't speak Chinese, so how could he know? But he seemed to understand all the snide, snippy things they insinuated into his ear about his teacher, Ms. Pauley.”

ScissorsSoundsSibilance
Book:The Book of Form and Emptiness
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“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.”

LifeGodPainMotherPoetryWishGrowthVoiceWaterFireYouthTearsSonRegretPoemProtectDespairForgivenessDaughterMereParentingMotherhoodGuidanceHeartacheFrustrationMothersYearningEyesFlowersLovingNurtureFragranceThirstyEulogyMothers And DaughtersMotheringSuzy KassemSoundsMother S LoveMother S DayMadreLoving MotherChaliceMotherly LoveMommyMerAnointLoss Of A MotherA Mother S LoveMother PoemMamanMothers PoemShower Your Head With Flowers
Book:Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem
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“His chief delights were of a less public and philanthropic kind, requiring many explanations of sounds which seemed peculiar even amidst that babel of the damned. Among these sounds were frequent revolver-shots—surely not uncommon on a battlefield, but distinctly uncommon in an hospital. Dr. West’s reanimated specimens were not meant for long existence or a large audience.”

SurgeryHospitalSoundsLovecraftRevolverBattlefieldReanimation
Book:Herbert West—Reanimator
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“It took her a moment, as always, to acclimate to the roar that surged in her mind's ears, a sound she had attempted to describe to her sister and mother more than once but never could. Like being filled with golden bees that were all actually one bee, which was actually a field of shining wheat rustling beneath a blazing sun. It was a sound but not a sound. It was in her ears but it was in her head. It was like tasting a feeling and the feeling was power.”

SoundMagicNoiseBeesWheatSoundsInk Blood Sister ScribeEmma TörzsJoannaJoanna Kalotay
Book:Ink Blood Sister Scribe
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“It’s like I’ve always had a painted musical sound track playing background to my life. I can almost hear colors and smell images when music is played. Mom loves classical. Big, booming Beethoven symphonies blast from her CD player all day long. Those pieces always seem to be bright blue as I listen, and they smell like fresh paint. Dad is partial to jazz, and every chance he gets, he winks at me, takes out Mom’s Mozart disc, then pops in a CD of Miles Davis or Woody Herman. Jazz to me sounds brown and tan, and it smells like wet dirt.”

MusicColorsSoundsSmellsPaintsMelody Brooks
Book:Out of my mind
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“Eliza had split each day between her two favorite places on the estate: the black rock down in the cove, on top of which millennia of tides had washed smooth a seat-sized platform; and the hidden garden, her garden, at the end of the maze. What a delight it was to have a place of one's own, an entire garden in which to Be. Sometimes Eliza liked to sit on the iron seat, perfectly still, and just listen. To the windblown leaves tapping against the walls, the muffled ocean breathing in and out, and the birds singing their stories. Sometimes, if she sat still enough, she almost fancied she could hear the flowers sighing in gratitude to the sun.”

GardenSoundsEliza MakepeaceCove
Book:The Forgotten Garden
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“Song of myself Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two, (They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.) I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint,) I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me.”

MusicListenSoundsNoises
Author:Walt Whitman
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“The Cambridge flowers had a moral meaning...but they had a poetical meaning that was even more apparent. So did the sounds one heard on summer evenings, the bells of the cows ambling home at twilight, the lullaby of the crickets in early autumn, the hymns of the frogs, in spring, in some neighbouring swamp, not to speak of the creaking of the winter wood-sleds, dragging their loads of walnut over the complaining snow. Every sound and odour had its value.”

NatureSoundsEarly America
Book:The Flowering of New England, 1815-1865
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“Eleanor unpacked the picnic basket and spread Mrs. Stevenson's goodies across it. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the four of them ate ham sandwiches and Cox's Orange Pippins and far too much cake, washing it all down with fresh ginger beer. Edwina watched the proceedings imploringly, snaffling up each small tidbit as it came her way. But really, the heat for October was uncanny! Eleanor undid the small pearl buttons at her wrist, rolling her sleeves back once, and then twice, so they sat in neat pleats. A somnolence had come over her after lunch, and she lay back on the blanket. Closing her eyes, she could hear the girls bickering lazily over the last slice of cake, but her attention drifted, sailing beyond them to pick out the 'plink' of water as gleaming trout leapt in the stream, the thrum of hidden crickets on the rim of the woods, the warm rustling of leaves in the nearby orchard. Each sound was an exaggeration, as if a bewitching spell had been cast over this small patch of land, like something from a fairy tale, one of Mr. Llewellyn's stories from her childhood.”

SummerMothers And DaughtersSoundsPicnicEleanor Edevane
Book:The Lake House
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“Without sight to get in the way of things, the whole world was suddenly alive with sound: the lapping of water as it washed around the posts below her, the splashing and skimming of ducks as they landed on the lake's surface, the wooden planks stretching beneath the sun's glare. As she listened, Sadie became aware of a thick blanketing hum behind it all, like hundreds of tiny motors whirring at once. It was a sound synonymous with summer, difficult to place at first, but then she realized. Insects, a hell of a lot of insects. Sadie sat up, blinking into the brightness. The world was briefly white before everything righted itself. Lily pads glistened, heart-shaped tiles on the water's surface, flowers reaching for the sky like pretty, grasping hands. The air surrounding them was filled with hundreds of small winged creatures.”

WhiteSoundsSadie Sparrow
Book:The Lake House
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“From birth to death and further on As we were born and introduced into this world, We had a gift hard to express by word And somewhere in our continuous road, It kind of lost it sense and turned. There was that time we sure remember, When everything was now and 'till forever Children with no worries and no regrets, The only goal was making a few friends. But later on everything has changed, By minds that had it all arranged To bring the people into stress, Into creating their own mess. We have been slaved by our own mind, Turned into something out of our kind Slowly faded away from the present time, Forced to believe in lies, in fights and crime. They made it clearly a fight of the ego, A never ending war that won't just go They made it a competitive game, To seek selfish materialistic fame. They turned us one against eachother, Man against man, brother against brother Dividing us by religion and skin color, Making us fight to death over a dollar. Making us lose ourselves in sadly thoughts, Wasting our days by living in the past Depressed and haunted by the memories, And yet still hoping to fly in our dreams. Some of us tried learning how to dance, Step after step, giving our soul a new chance Some of us left our ego vanish into sounds, Thus being aware of our natural bounce. Some tried expressing in their rhymes, The voice of a generation which never dies They reached eternity through poetry Leaving the teachings that shall fulfill the prophecy Others have found their way through spirituality, Becoming conscious of the human duality Seeking the spiritual enlightenment, Of escaping an ego-oriented fighting Science, philosophy, religion, Try to explain the human origin. Maybe changes are yet to come, And it shall be better for some Death's for the spirit not an end, But a relieving of the embodiment So I believe that furthermore, We'll understand the power of our soul But leaving behind all we know, And all that we might not yet know It all resumes to that certain truth, That we all seek to once conclude.”

WorldMindKindChildrenWarSoulPhilosophyTruthPastRememberSpiritualScienceDeathPoetryTimeReligionSpiritualityLostGoalBornNaturalMemoriesPowerForeverDreamsBrotherFriendsBirthFameEgoEnlightenmentConsciousLiesEternityDanceSelfishGiftManColourFightPresentProphecyBetterRegretsDualityWordEverythingChangesGameEmbodimentRoadDepressedSenseSeekGenerationSkinTeachingsAwareMindsWorriesOriginSoundsDollarRhymesConclude
Author:Virgil Kalyana Mittata Iordache
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“Sometimes I wait at the bottom of those dark stairs, I sit at the bottom of the stairs, I wait beyond the bottom of the stairs and listen to the sounds my wife and children make as they sleep, the sounds our animals make as they step carefully through our dreams and out the other side to polished floor and cold window. Sometimes I wait so long I become unsure if I am asleep, or awake, or dead.”

ChildrenSleepWifeDreamsAwakeDeadPetsSoundsAlseepCold WindowPolished FloorThe Bottom Of The Stairs
Book:The Man on the Ceiling
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“Let my silence grow with noise as pregnant mothers grow with life. Let my silence permeate these walls as sunlight permeates a home. Let the silence rise from unwatered graves and craters left by bombs. Let the silence rise from empty bellies and surge from broken hearts. The silence of the hidden and forgotten. The silence of the abused and tortured. The silence of the persecuted and imprisoned. The silence of the hanged and massacred. Loud as all the sounds can be, let my silence be loud so the hungry may eat my words and the poor may wear my words. Loud as all the sounds can be, let my silence be loud so I may resurrect the dead and give voice to the oppressed. My silence speaks.”

LoveLifeWarHomeGovernmentTruthPoetryHateHumanitySpeakPeaceVoiceCommunityForgetPoorUnitedSilencePovertySupportSocietyRevolutionPoemEmptyHatredAbuseHarmonyUnitySilentWordsForgottenEqualityActivismGravesHungryResistanceNoiseReformLoudTortureBombsOppositionProtestActivistGenocideMothersDeadPregnantSunlightSolidarityOppressedHomelessOne LoveTogethernessHomelessnessKamandKojouriKamand KojouriRevoltGrowHeartsNoisyRisePersecutedSilence QuotesUnionComing TogetherHiddenAmnestyEatWallsRise UpHumannessMassacreSoundsResistLove Is LoveOne WorldLove WinsCratersAbusedSurgeBroken HeartsImprisonedSilencedDudeTorturedResurrectSpeaksPersecuteImprisonLove RevolutionPermeateHope PoemsStoningOne NationUnity PoemsBelliesSolidarity PoemsActivism PoemsHangedImportant PoemLove Revolution PoemsMassacredSilence Poems
Author:Kamand Kojouri
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