Quotes
Quotes about Voice
Her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.
How sweetly sounds the voice of a good woman! It is so seldom heard that, when it speaks, It ravishes all senses.
The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear.
A Locanian having plucked all the feathers off from a nightingale and seeing what a little body it had, "surely," quoth he, "thou art all voice and nothing else." (Vox et praeterea nibil.)
Her voice was like the voice the stars Had when they sang together.
A sweet voice, a little indistinct and muffled, which caresses and does not thrill; an utterance which glides on without emphasis, and lays stress on what is deeply felt.
The voice is nothing but beaten air. [Lat., Vox nihil aliud quam ictus aer.]
I thank you for your voices, thank you! Your most sweet voices! Now you have left your voices, I have no further with you.
Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as gently as any suckling dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.
And rolling far along the gloomy shores The voice of days of old and days to be.
My voice stuck in my throat. [Lat., Vox faucibus haesit.]
Two voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
The voice of conscience is so delicate that it is easy to stifle it; but it is also so clear that it is impossible to mistake it.
It is the safeguard of the strongest that he lives under a government which is obliged to respect the voice of the weakest.
There is no index of character so sure as the voice.
His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets.
Lower your voice and strengthen your argument.
The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
. . . solitude is such a potential thing. We hear voices in solitude, we never hear in the hurry and turmoil of life; we receive counsels and comforts, we get under no other condition . . .
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
The human voice is the organ of the soul.
At some glad moment was it nature's choice To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice?
It is the still small voice that the soul heeds; not the deafening blasts of doom.
There is no index so sure as the voice.
