It is the still small voice that the soul heeds; not the deafening blasts of doom.

It is the still small voice that the soul heeds; not the deafening blasts of doom.

And rolling far along the gloomy shores
The voice of days of old and days to be.

And rolling far along the gloomy shores
The voice of days of old and days to be.

A sweet voice, a little indistinct and muffled, which caresses
and does not thrill; an utterance which glides on read more

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.]

The voice is nothing but beaten air.
[Lat., Vox nihil aliud quam ictus aer.]

The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in read more

The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.

His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets.

His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets.

A man's style is his mind's voice. Wooden minds, wooden voices.

A man's style is his mind's voice. Wooden minds, wooden voices.

. . . solitude is such a potential thing. We hear voices in solitude, we never hear in the hurry read more

. . . 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 . . .

Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.

Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.