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Miss Hepburns voice was lilting along as before: She is oblivious of her impact. Or inured to it. Or stuck with it.
There is no index of character so sure as the voice.
But all resistance against her is vain Who has the advantage both of Eyes and Voice. And all my forces needs must be undone She having gained both the Wind and Sun.
Violence in the voice is often only the death rattle of reason in the throat.
A mans style is his minds voice. Wooden minds wooden voices.
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
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Miss Hepburns voice was lilting along as before: She is oblivious of her impact. Or inured to it. Or stuck with it.
There is no index of character so sure as the voice.
But all resistance against her is vain Who has the advantage both of Eyes and Voice. And all my forces needs must be undone She having gained both the Wind and Sun.
Violence in the voice is often only the death rattle of reason in the throat.
A mans style is his minds voice. Wooden minds wooden voices.
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.