. . . 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 was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.

Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.

At some glad moment was it nature's choice To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice?

At some glad moment was it nature's choice To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice?

And after the earthquake was a fire; but the Lord was not in the
fire: and after the fire read more

And after the earthquake was a fire; but the Lord was not in the
fire: and after the fire a still small voice.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

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.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea,
One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea,
One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

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.

There is no index so sure as the voice.

There is no index so sure as the voice.