sounds

Evil Dead film sounds like the Red Hood, but this time the bad red hood.

Without the wetness of your love,The fragrance of your water,Or the trickling sounds ofYour voice,I shall always feelthirsty.

When listening to the lightning storms in your area on a standard AM radio, you will hear a sound like bacon frying and this is the electromagnetic energy that the storm is generating. Plants react to this energy and may show vigorous growth during lightning seasons.

I was downstairs, reading."" Now?" I strained to see her face. She was smiling, it appeared."Yes, now," she said. "It's nice, sometimes, to read in the middle of the night. The sky is so dark and soft-looking outside the window, all the stars out. You have just on light on, you know, and it seems to pour onto the page. Makes the book seem better. You are this little island, just up alone with a book. And you heard the night sounds of the house...It's so interesting to me, that sound. Time. The measure of it.

There is no competition of sounds between a nightingale and a violin.

Since there is no real silence, Silence will contain all the sounds, All the words, all the languages, All knowledge, all memory.

Wake up to think of words_ want to walk through pages of meanings, the links in assonance, alliteration, or just simple sense that moves the eye to leap that way to the next-door play of sound and resonance.

Be the voice of night and Florida in my ear.Use dusky words and dusky images.Darken your speech.Speak, even, as if I did not hear you speaking,But spoke for you perfectly in my thoughts,Conceiving words,As the night conceives the sea-sounds in silence,And out of their droning sibilants makesA serenade.

In an endless silence even screams sound silent.

In every sound, the hidden silence sleeps.

There are things in this world that the children hear, but whose sounds oscillate below an adult's sense of pitch.

so many sounds do come close to our ears each moment. What we allow into our mind and how we interpret what we listen to is what propels our thought and actions

Now, remember: they're not for eating, but for listening, because you'll often be hungry for sounds as well as food. Here are street noises at night, train whistles from a long way off, dry leaves burning, busy department stores, crunching toast, creaking bed springs, and of course, all kinds of laughter. There's a little of each, and in far off, lonely places, I think you will be glad to have them.

The perpetual movement of the water, rolling from and to unknown destinations, the voices of the sea shield us from the raging furies and shrieking sounds of dystopian surroundings, creating an unwinding veil for stilled happiness, acquainting us with the gentle, cosmic rhythms of an extraneous world. They are a soothing relief and let us listen to the voices of our inner world. ("Voices of the sea" )

But there were too many points at which the other self could invade the self he wanted to preserve, and there were too many forms of invasion: certain words, sounds, lights, actions his hands or feet performed, and if he did nothing at all, heard and saw nothing, the shouting of some triumphant inner voice that shocked him and cowed him.

I took him to the river and said __et__ watch something drown,_ So he took a stoneand I took my necklaceand we threw it all together,the way I always think I will get better in July. Things will change and sounds won__ acheand I gave my heart to uncertainty so many times, and so I took him to the river,threw the necklace in the river to slowly watch it drown, or burn, or fade awaylike I__e done so many times.

Who are you? What__ your name?___i Mi.___o you hear that thumping noise?___o.___t must be here somewhere._ Tin Win knelt down. Now it was nearly next to his ear. __ hear it more and more distinctly. A soft pulsing. You really don__ hear it?___o.___lose your eyes.__i Mi closed her eyes. __othing,_ she said, and laughed. Tin Win leaned over and felt her breath on his face. __ think it__ coming from you._ He crept closer to her and held his head just in front of her chest.There it was. Her heartbeat.

Music and literature, the two temporal arts, contrive their pattern of sounds in time; or, in other words, of sounds and pauses._ Communication may be made in broken words, the business of life be carried on with substantives alone; but that is not what we call literature; and the true business of the literary artist is to plait or weave his meaning, involving it around itself; so that each sentence, by successive phrases, shall first come into a kind of knot, and then, after a moment of suspended meaning, solve and clear itself.-ON SOME TECHNICAL ELEMENTS OF STYLE IN LITERATURE