Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Clarionet. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Clarionet Quotes And Sayings by 93 Authors including Margaret Millar,Aporva Kala,Iain M. Banks,Ally Condie,David Johnson for you to enjoy and share.
The sidewalks swarmed with people, the night was full of the noises of the living. They struck Miss Clarvoe's ears strangely, like sounds from another planet.
Soundless speechless sorties of life.
A very patient voice. Concerned, somehow, but a hopeful voice; a cheerful, even loving voice. He tried to remember his mother. 'Cheradenine?' the voice said again. Trying to get him to wake up. But he was awake. He tried moving his lips.
Reaching and reached. Cassia
David Johnson Chorus.
This is the voice of Vietnam Broadcasting from Hanoi, capitol of the Democratic republic of Vietnam.
My Heart. My World. My Coast. My Becca.
no cray,Daddy he whisper
This is the planet teeming, this place we've come to and will leave tomorrow, deepened for the long return but not the wedded reach, the losing touch of self to self, contented more or less and known not nearly well enough.
crocogator." She
Cruddy Mouthbreather
Cease, stranger, cease those witching notes,
The art of syren choirs;
Hush the seductive voice that floats
Across the trembling wires.
Music's ethereal power was given
Not to dissolve our clay,
But draw Promethean beams from heaven
To purge the dross away.
The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.
Livvie's screams rent the air. James flinched at the sound, but Caleb's blood sang. I am both men. - Caleb
The tide tarrieth no man.
Called by the sirens and followed by an albatross.
The city's all brightness
and shadow, deckle-edged, bluer than air-there's no help anywhere-you no longer know how to listen.
To cleave that sea [the Aegean] in the gentle autumnal season, murmuring the name of each islet, is to my mind the joy most apt to transport the heart of man into paradise.
I sing in key, thank you very much.
A dying scream makes no sound,
Calling out to all that have ever known
Here am I, lost and found
Calling out to all
Kiril. His name was but a whisper upon the wind, a sigh upon her lips.
Her gaze silently begged him while her hands continued their magic upon his aching cock. As if he could deny her
or himself
the pleasure that awaited.
The summit sings what is being spoken in the depths.
Bind me-I still can sing-
Banish-my mandolin
Strikes true within-
Slay-and my Soul shall rise
Chanting to Paradise-
Still thine.
A whispering and watery Norfolk sound
Telling of all the moonlit reeds around.
Hy gododin catann hue Hud a lledrith mal wyddan Gaunce ae bellawn wen cabri Varigal don Fincayra Dravia, dravia Fincayra (Talking trees and walking stones, Giants aare the island's bones. While this land our dance still knows, Varigal crowns Fincayra. Live long, live long Fincayra.
This silent call you make, A silence so loud I fear the world knows it's meaning If you fill every corner of a room Where can I look? If I close my eyes the silence becomes louder! There is no escape from you The only way out is in
Bells, the poor man's only music.
The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude.
POSTNot a head stands out A finger rises Then it is the voice that one knows A signal a brief note A man leaves Up above a cloud that passes by No one goes in And the night keeps its secret
O singers, resinous and soft your songsAbove the sacred whisper of the pines,Give virgin lips to cornfield concubines,Bring dreams of Christ to dusky cane-lipped throngs.
A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
Jacian Obregon. It sounds like a melody. Or a tragedy.
Our Lady of Cheribim Chit-Chat.
Loneliness of heart
In the still of the night my heart doth cry out, who can hear it for time is far spent. In the darkness in the shadow of the depth I find isolation and fear ...
Whoo, Frisco nights, the end of the continent and the end of doubt, all dull doubt and tomfoolery, good-by
Creep, clobber, squawk. Repeat.
Imagine how titanic an echo chamber this great city would seem without the noise of eve none of mine. A huge bronze bell deprived of one hidden small iron clapper, its sole reason for being, its single means of song.
prestidigitator,
Voices tossed up and down the long flights of stairs, sourceless and intertwining like crickets' chorus, gentle as fingers on my hair. Night, they said, good night, sleep well. Welcome back, Lexie. Yes, welcome back. Good night. Sweet dreams.
I think I'll call you Cygnus," Chelsea said.
"The swan?" I said. A bit precious, but it could have been worse.
She shook her head. "Black hole. Cygnus X-1.
For thogh we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ryde, Ay fleeth the tyme; it nyl no man abyde.
Listen carnales listen to the hymn of it, the lie of it, the prayer of it, the voices singing our names: listen it's our story, it's our song,
Newrose, oldrose, Queen Anne's lace. Water, river, stone, and sun. Wind over hill, under tree. Past the border none can see. Climbing into dark for you Will you wait in stars for me? I
Plea XXI. Echoing Footsteps XXII. The Sea Still Rises XXIII. Fire Rises XXIV. Drawn to the Loadstone Rock Book
Church bells beyond the stars heard, the soul's blood, The land of spices; something understood.
A voice speaks to each of us in the still silent places - a voice that tells us to stand, to have courage, to do what is right.
though my voice is eager to tune to marches,
toady to wine and city...
My heart beats her name
Who is the man who can call from the back door at night: "Here, Champion Alexander of Clane o' Wind-Holme! Here, Champion Alexander of Clane o' Wind-Holme"?
God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, you piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
SIMON LEWIS, ERIC HILLCHURCH, KIRK DUPLESSE, AND MATT CHARLTON
"THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS"
MAY 19, PROSPECT PARK BAND SHELL
BRING THIS FLYER, GET $5 OFF YOUR ENTRANCE FEE!
Her sound is a siren's song, calling me to the rocks.
WindClan territory
Adieu the clang of war's alarms! To other deeds my soul is strung, And sweeter notes shall now be sung; My harp shall all its powers reveal, To tell the tale my heart must feel; Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim, In songs of bliss and sighs of flame.
Sixth comes Saraneth, also known as the Binder. Saraneth speaks with the deep voice of power, shackling the Dead to the wielder's will.
No more words. Hear only the voice within.
heartbeat
the sound i must hear
and listen
Presley's what I go by, why don't you change the station.
Tried to give you warning but everyone ignores me)
Told you everything loud and clear
But nobody's listening
Called to you so clearly but you don't want to hear me
Told you everything loud and clear
But nobody's listening
I'm the oracle in my chest,
Let the guitar scream like a fascist,
Sweat it out, shut your mouth,
Free love on the streets, but
In the alley and I ain't that cheap, now
Tristan was the soundtrack of my summer. The beat I walked to. The melody I breathed in and out. The lyrics I lived by.
Friendth, Romanth, countrymen, lend me your earsth.
Alert. Aware. Dreams and memories slip away. Thoughts tumble. Tangled. Confused. Sounds from my mouth are primal. What I want to say, what I need to say stays locked inside.
So many words get lost. They leave the mouth and lose their courage, wandering aimlessly until they are swept away into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days you can hear their chorus rushing kkpast.
Newrose, Oldrose, Quean Anne's lace.
Water, river, stone and sun
Wind over hill, under tree.
Past the border none can see.
Climbing into dark for you,
Will you climb in stars for me?
P.124
This is Huntress placing Panta four-five, four-six on battle stations, I repeat battle stations, time one-two-four-one. Authenticate hotel romeo, all parties acknowledge with initials.
What are those?" Nico called.
If you believe you are beyond harm, will you go inside? Will you enter this palace so prominent in blood and glory, follow your face through the web-spanned dark, toward the exquisite chiming of the clavier? The alarms cannot see us. The wet policeman lurking in the doorway cannot see us. Come ...
Even so, Miss Whitmore . . . We should have a signal." "A signal?" "A word to shout if you're in distress. Like 'Tangiers,' or . . . or perhaps 'muscadine.' " Clio gave her an amused look. "Is something wrong with the word 'help'?" "I . . . well, I suppose not." "Very
Perhaps the only comfort which remains
Is the unheeded clanking of my chains,
The which I make, and call it melody.
I sleep on a tar roof
scream my songs
into lazy floods of stars ...
a white powder paddles through blood and heart
and the returns
pure and easy ...
This city is on my side.
I need you to love me. I need you to tell me it's going to be okay. Lie to me if you have to, and tell me everything will be okay. I'm lost, Cade. And you're the only north I have.
Home. I have no idea what that word really means.
first four letters, and used to write them out
Sound
That stealeth ever on the ear of him
Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim,
And sees the darkness coming as a cloud
Is not its form
its voice
most palpable and loud?
In the church of my heart the choir is on fire
Not the rich viol, trump, cymbal, nor horn,
Guitar, nor cittern, nor the pining flute,
Are half so sweet as tender human words.
The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the
Moscow ... how many strains are fusing in that one sound, for Russian hearts! what store of riches it imparts!
What Great Beast will have their solitude pierced by your grasping little voices?
In every country is a word which attempts the sound of cats, to match an inisolable portrait in the clouds to a din in the air. But the constant noise is not an omen of music to come.
UTSL, which Maxine at first takes for an anagram of LUST or possibly SLUT but later learns is Unix for Use The Source, Luke.
Phonograph - An irritating toy that restores life to dead noises.
Maktub" (It is written.)
The Man of a Thousand Voices
All the same, a seductive voice from afar kept breaking into her conjugal peace: it was the voice of solitude. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of a hunting horn coming from the depths of distant forests. There were paths in those forests ...
ForTime, not Corydon, hath conquered thee.
Voices
Voices in my head,
Chanting, 'Kisses. Bread.
Prove yourself. Fight. Shove.
Learn. Earn. Look for love',
Drown a lesser voice,
Silent now of choice:
'Breathe in peace, and be
Still, for once, like me'.
The sweetest noise on earth, a woman's tongue; A string which hath no discord.
Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, To the inward ear devout, Touched by light, with heavenly warning Your transporting chords ring out. Every leaf in every nook, Every wave in every brook, Chanting with a solemn voice Minds us of our better choice.
when whispered
what an exquisite
song, it makes-
your name.
The venal herd.
[Lat., Venale pecus.]
Each of you are a voice. Together we are a choir, a powerful choir of change that circles the globe with love.
Bassist Steve Uccello's Symmetria is filled with cool and unique sounds, textures, and musical ideas, evoking an imagined atmosphere of open spaces influenced by Ry Cooder's desert dusty roads as much as anything a bassist could conjure up. It fits a mellow, contemplative mood perfectly.
You want to go to a show tonight? There's this band called Crucifictorious from Texas, and they're supposed to be decent.
Pete's voice. "You
King Offa's dyke,
Hello - what hotel is this - ?
Now you are come! You tremble like a star Poised where, behind earth's rim, the sun has set. Your voice has sung across my heart, but numb And mute, I have no tones to answer.
A sound waiting to be a word.