Quotes
Quotes about Sound
Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound.
My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion.
We are the doubles of those whose way Was festal with fruits and flowers; Body and brain we were sound as they, But the prizes were not ours.
Let music sound while he doth make his choice; Then if he lose he makes a swanlike end, Fading in music.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion.
The sounding jargon of the schools.
I said to the brown, brown thrush: "Hush, hush! Through the wood's full strains I hear Thy monotone deep and clear, Like a sound amid sounds most fine."
The groves were God's first temple. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
If you have trouble sounding condescending, find a Unix user to show you how it's done.
Written about Washington after his death by another of the founding fathers, Thomas Jefferson: His mind was great and powerful ... as far as he saw, no judgment was ever sounder. It was slow in operation, being little aided by invention or imagination, but sure in conclusion.... Perhaps the strongest feature in his character was prudence, never acting until every circumstance, every consideration, was maturely weighed; refraining if he saw doubt, but, when once decided, going through his purpose, whatever obstacles opposed. His integrity was the most pure, his justice the most inflexible I have ever known.... He was, indeed, in every sense of the words, a wise, a good and a great man ... On the whole, his character was, in its mass, perfect ... it may truly be said, that never did nature and fortune combine more perfectly to make a man great....
Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain: Fought all his battles o'er again; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
It had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odor.
Virtue and sense are one; and, trust me, still A faithless heart betrays the head unsound.
The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroked the air; And though the sound had parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense.
How sweetly sounds the voice of a good woman! It is so seldom heard that, when it speaks, It ravishes all senses.
It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.
How good bad music and bad reasons sound when we march against an enemy.
The truth is, laughter always sounds more perfect than weeping. Laughter flows in a violent riff and is effortlessly melodic. Weeping is often fought, choked, half strangled, or surrendered to with humiliation.
The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.
Firm and erect the Caledonian stood; Sound was his mutton, and his claret good; "Let him drink port!" the English statesman cried: He drank the poison, and his spirit died.
When now, unsparing as the scourge of war, Blasts follow blasts and groves dismantled roar; Around their home the storm-pinched cattle lows, No nourishment in frozen pasture grows; Yet frozen pastures every morn resound With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground.
His breath like silver arrows pierced the air, The naked earth crouched shuddering at his feet, His finger on all flowing waters sweet Forbidding lay--motion nor sound was there:-- Nature was frozen dead,--and still and slow, A winding sheet fell o'er her body fair, Flaky and soft, from his wide wings of snow.
The finest words in the world are only vain sounds, if you cannot comprehend them.
