Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Hoarsely. 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 Hoarsely Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including Leo Rosten,Scott Lynch,Elin Stebbins Waldal,Leigh Ann Henion,William Cowper for you to enjoy and share.
When in trouble, mumble.
A voice called out, cold as chloroform and old shame.
I can no longer stay quiet in this world, I have a voice and I feel it reverberate off my internal walls, making its slow climb upward until its melody can be heard all around.
My voice has expanded. It's unfurled in directions I didn't know it could go. And, in some ways, it isn't even what I thought it was.
The still small voice is wanted.
The voice is nothing but beaten air.
The thundering voice that wrings, in one dark, damning moment, crimes of years!
No more words. Hear only the voice within.
Squee-squee-squawky-squiggly-squee.-- Eric Arvin
You know you're loudest when you don't say anything at all?
The voice is deep and soft, not a sound so much as a feeling. It is storm and wind and leaves twisting in the night. It is roots sucking deep at the earth, and the pale, sightless creatures that live below the ground. But there's something wrong with this voice, something diseased at its core.
I do not speak. I smoke. Throat tight, as if fingers are squeezing it.
The words sounded like a mournful incantation.
I love it when he whispers. But, this time, he doesn't whisper. He roars.
Enough of words. Come to me without a sound.
A subterranean murmur. It may sound like one of the many separate voices that make up the sounds of a creek. Or it may come in code, oblique and sneaky, creeping in from around the corner.
I whisper like the sea in the horse's ear.
I don't like the sound of my voice.
That's my life: screaming without making a sound.
A voice flat enough to fit under a door crack.
He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.
One of them hissed-not the hiss of a cat, a long, steady tone-more like the hiss of air escaping the rubber raft that is all that lies between you and a dark sea full of sharks, the hiss of your life leaking out at the seams.
Listen' he whispered ferociously, like a ferocious breeze or a very gentle hurricane.
I tried out the unfamiliar syllables. They fit. They cracked in my ears like a fist through ice.
I murmur something that sounds like "goodbye" but tastes like "hello.
Honey, you are a baby in this world and don't know how to howl yet.
Even talking, I'm super-loud. I could never have that kind of meek, little wispy whimsical lavender and lace voice. It comes from my body. There's no way I can fight it.
contemptuous cough
Ah! The anguish, the vile rage, the despair
Of not being able to express
With a shout, an extreme and bitter shout,
The bleeding of my heart.
He had the raw, rough voice of one who had marinated his larynx in whiskey and slow-cooked it in years of cigarette smoke.
I have no mouth, and I must scream.
As you walk the thin line between despair and hope . . . I wonder what your voices will sound like when you scream.
What you do thunders above your head so loudly, I cannot hear the words you speak.
My voice is loud and piercing, and I project like I was once told by a doctor during a childhood illness that I would never speak again.
My fears and anxieties throughout my whole life have been slowly squeezing my voice.
What you do is so loud, I can't hear what you say.
Anonymous
The love that previously dared not speak its name has now grown hoarse from screaming it.
My body speaks. Actually, it's ready to shout itself hoarse.
That tuneful nymph, the babbling Echo.
Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds.
Am I screaming? I hope so, but I can't tell, not until I figure out the audio.
I don't have a voice box.
Maria!
How can I fit a tender word into bulging ears?
He doesn't hear but sees the Voice.
the voice seems to echo in the architecture of his head
When speech comes from a quiet heart, it has the strength of the orchid, and the fragrance of rock.
the deep voice held a hint of
Softly the loud peal dies, In passing winds it drowns, But breathes, like perfect joys, Tender tones.
Growl all you want. The sound is...appealing.
Danders Anders squealed with joy. The most malodorous sound in the world.
By the way, if you knew how you sounded when you hissed, you wouldn't do it: you sound like such berks when you do that.
Coach Hedge grunted like he was pleased to have an excuse. He unclipped the megaphone from his belt and continued giving directions, but his voice came out like Darth Vader's. The kids cracked up. The coach tried again, but this time the megaphone blared: The cow says moo!
I don't really shout that much.
The soft chanting envelops us like a membrane. A
He made a noise like a pig swallowing half a cabbage,
I called him up from a phone booth. The voice that answered was fat. It wheezed softly, like the voice of a man who had just won a pie-eating contest.
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
The silence is screaming out for noise.
He uttered the cry of a creature hurled over an abyss ...
Umber whunnnn yerrrnnn umber whunnnn fayunnnn These sounds: even in the haze.
I'm never quite as excited as people think because with my voice, when I shout, I squeak.
and his voice came from him in a whisper,
There's an uncomfortable silence, crackling with tension, unsaid words and vehement intensity.
Something gurgled in his throat. It took a moment before he realized it was a scream bottled in his innards, a blast of misery trying to force its way out.
What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say.
His voice sounded like molten metal. As if he had something thick at the back of his throat and it was making him sound deeper and richer than he actually was.
Her voice was husky, vibrating, slightly flat, coming in just under each note like a saucer under a cup.
My words are a whisper, your deafness a shout.
The boy sang in a shrill high descant and seemed to be trying not to sing in tune.
Whisper, whisper, whisper.
You can't hear a whisper if you're constantly shouting.
But I've always had a low voice, I can't yell, the words fall a short distance away like a handful of pebbles thrown by a child.
My voice sounded like one of the guinea fowl that screeched in our trees as it pooped, but I never let that stop me.
Quietly ... softly, God taps on our tense shoulders with His love.
She bleats like a bloody sheep.
That lovely voice; how I should weep for joy if I could hear it now!
Hush, now", she said, stroking his head. "Hush. Dilsey got you." But he bellowed slowly, abjectly, without tears; the grave hopeless sound of all voiceless misery under the sound.
The velvet voice of her soul.
If a pig loses its voice, is it disgruntled?
My voice, at first rough and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid. A voice that would make the mockingjays fall silent and then tumble over themselves to join in.
The word, his name, crawled across the room in a gravelly hiss.
senseless, senseless coughs of emotion
The resulting sound wasn't quite a squawk, wasn't quite a yelp, wasn't quite a gasp. As best she could describe it, it sounded like an angry chicken slapping a puppy with a fish.
I've been screaming for years and no one has ever heard me.
His voice was that kind you get from smoking three packs a day and then spending all night howling at the moon.
, her mouth working mutely like the valve of an undersea creature
I couldn't help overhearing," he went on. "Grrr," said Emerson. (I assure you, there is really no other way of reproducing this sound.) "Honestly.
I don't even know what my voice is to this day.
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.
Laughter is the only sound left I can make that people will understand.
I could not hear the words, but I could hear the worry.
I open my eyes. That's when I discover what that wailing sound was. My mouth wasn't frozen shut after all. When I finally understand why Aidan and Lucio sounded like they were arguing from miles away: I was straining to hear them over the sound of my own voice. This whole time I've been screaming.
It was a scream of loss so immense there was no speech for it. It was the wordless cry of having the sky over your head, the air in your lungs, ripped away from you forever.
A voice that had traversed the centuries, so heavy it broke what it touched, so heavy I feared it would ring in me with eternal resonance, a voice rusty with the sound of curses and the hoarse cries that issue from the delta in the last paroxysm of orgasm.
I scream at the top of my lungs. I scream bloody murder. I scream with years of pent up fury. But no sound leaves my chest. It's like I have forgotten how to speak.
I don't know what silence sounds like anymore.
He whispered, breaking the silence because he could no longer bear it, daring to make a noise because a whisper was better than a scream
A shrieking battle cry echoed on the wind, a spine-tingling scream that sounded like the baying of the wolves closing in on their prey.
Squee." 1 (verb): To emit an onomatopoetic girlish swooning sound out of pure fanboy adulation. 2 (noun): the sound itself.
Well! And hallo you! said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.
Wake up,' a voice like water rippling over rocks whispered in my ear.