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.)

. . . 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 . . .

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.

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.

Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet read more

Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.

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.

He ceased: but left so charming on their ear
His voice, that listening still they seemed to hear.

He ceased: but left so charming on their ear
His voice, that listening still they seemed to hear.

His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets.

His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets.

Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with read more

Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.