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His voice no touch of harmony admits,
Irregularly deep, and shrill by fits.
The two extremes appear read more
His voice no touch of harmony admits,
Irregularly deep, and shrill by fits.
The two extremes appear like man and wife
Coupled together for the sake of strife.
How sweetly sounds the voice of a good woman!
It is so seldom heard that, when it speaks,
read more
How sweetly sounds the voice of a good woman!
It is so seldom heard that, when it speaks,
It ravishes all senses.
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.
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.
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.
A Locanian having plucked all the feathers off from a nightingale
and seeing what a little body it had, read more
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 ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets.
His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets.
. . . 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 . . .
