Impossible The Voice Quotes & Sayings

In the wildest anarchy of man's insurgent appetites and sins there is still a reclaiming voice,
a voice which, even when in practice disregarded, it is impossible not to own; and to which, at the very moment that we refuse our obedience, we find that we cannot refuse the homage of what ourselves do feel and acknowledge to be the best, the highest principles of our nature. — Thomas Chalmers

stupidity: a process, not a state. A human being takes in far more information than he or she can put out. "Stupidity" is a process or strategy by which a human, in response to social denigration of the information she or he puts out, commits him or herself to taking in no more information than she or he can put out. (Not to be confused with ignorance, or lack of data.) Since such a situation is impossible to achieve because of the nature of mind/perception itself in its relation to the functioning body, a continuing downward spiral of functionality and/or informative dissemination results,' and he understood why! 'The process, however, can be reversed,' the voice continued, 'at any time. — Samuel R. Delany

The dead are mute, but the living still have voice with which to protest their innocence. Often their objections are noisy and pious, impossible to refute since the person who could condemn them has been silenced forever. — Sue Grafton

No matter, no matter how, they are doing the best they can, with the miserable means at their disposal, a voice, a little light, poor devils, that's what they're paid for, they say, No sign of hardening, no sign of softening, impossible to say, no matter, it's a good average, we only have to continue, one day he'll understand, one day he'll thrill, the little spasm will come, a change in the eye, and cast him up among us. To be on the watch and never sight, to listen for the moan that never comes, that's not a life worth living either. And yet it's theirs. — Samuel Beckett

He was a stranger, an alien creature, impossible to reach or understand. And still she wanted to try. "Tell me what you need."
"This," he whispered, watching her lips move against his palm. "Just this." He rose over her, pinning her against the cushions, and stroked her hair with a tenderness that seemed misplaced among the sultry sensations it awakened in her.
"Do your clients pleasure you?" she asked hoarsely, her head tilting and following his fingers as they massaged her neck.
"If that's what they want. You pleasure me, Billie. The sight of you. The sound of your voice. I want to hear it all sorts of ways. Laughing. Whispering. Moaning. Crying out." He caught her mouth in a lush, hungry kiss, and there was nothing sweet or grateful about it this time. Erotic delight arrowed through her with each sleek thrust of his tongue between her lips, a sultry promise of what he would do to her if she let him. — Shelby Reed

Stacy Schiff is that rare combination: a first-rate historian and a brilliant storyteller. Using a wide range of sources, she spins straw into gold, conjuring the world of Ptolemaic Egypt in full vibrant color, and returning the voice of one of the most powerful, fascinating, and maligned women in history. Cleopatra is impossible to put down. — Rick Riordan

Caspian felt sure that he would hate the new Tutor, but when the new Tutor arrived about a week later he turned out to be the sort of person it is almost impossible not to like. He was the smallest, and also the fattest, man Caspian had ever seen. He had a long, silvery, pointed beard which came down to his waist, and his face, which was brown and covered with wrinkles, looked very wise, very ugly, and very kind. His voice was grave and his eyes were merry so that, until you got to now him really well, it was hard to know when he was joking and when he was serious. His name was Doctor Cornelius. — C.S. Lewis

In recent years it has become impossible to talk about man's relation to nature without referring to "ecology" ... such leading scientists in this area as Rachel Carson, Barry Commoner, Eugene Odum, Paul Ehrlich and others, have become our new delphic voices ... so influential has their branch of science become that our time might well be called the "Age of Ecology". — Rachel Carson

No one has touched me in 264 days. Sometimes I think the loneliness inside of me is going to explode through my skin and sometimes I'm not sure if crying or screaming or laughing through the hysteria will solve anything at all. Sometimes I'm so desperate to touch to be touched to feel that I'm almost certain I'm going to fall off a cliff in an alternate universe where no one will ever be able to find me. It doesn't seem impossible. I've been screaming for years and no one has ever heard me. "Aren't you hungry?" His voice is lower now, a little worried now. I've been starving for 264 days. "No." The word is little more than a broken breath as it escapes my lips — Tahereh Mafi

No," I mumble. I try to shake my head but can't, the agony making it impossible. "I want to stay awake. I want to be with you."
"Do not worry. I will be here when you wake."
"But you were gone before."
"I was not gone. I was here and I will always be here."
"How can you be so sure?"
She kissed me again before answering. "Because," she says, her voice tender, "I am always with you, Ira. — Nicholas Sparks

I love you," he said softly, his hand stroking her back. "And I'll do anything for you. You know that, right?"
Mia smiled, her heart overflowing with emotion. "I love you more..."
"That would be impossible," he told her, and the intensity in his voice startled her. "I love you so much it hurts. — Anna Zaires

Men write many fine and plausible arguments in support of monarchy, but the fact remains that where every man has a voice, brutal laws are impossible — Mark Twain

Now it is impossible that the infinite should be a thing which is itself infinite, separable from sensible objects. If the infinite is neither a magnitude nor an aggregate, but is itself a substance and not an attribute, it will be indivisible; for the divisible must be either a magnitude or an aggregate. But if indivisible, then not infinite, except in the sense (1) in which the voice is 'invisible'. But this is not the sense in which it is used by those who say that the infinite exists, nor that in which we are investigating it, namely as (2) 'that which cannot be gone through'. But if the infinite exists as an attribute, it would not be, qua infinite an element in substances, any more than the invisible would be an element of speech, though the voice is invisible.
Physics, III, 5, 206a — Aristotle.

The book has to give the idea of another kind of newspaper, has to show how I labored away for a year to create a model of journalism independent of all pressure, implying that the venture failed because it was impossible to have a free voice — Umberto Eco

When I get out of here, if I'm ever able to set this down, in any form, even in the form of one voice to another, it will be a reconstruction then too, at yet another remove. It's impossible to say a thing exactly the way it was, because what you say can never be exact, you always have to leave something out, there are too many parts, sides, crosscurrents, nuances; too many gestures, which could mean this or that, too many shapes which can never be fully described, too many flavors, in the air or on the tongue, half-colors, too many. But — Margaret Atwood

Exactly, I repeated myself. I believe we do it all the time. We always take up certain elements again. How can it be avoided? An actor's voice always has the same timbre and, consequently, he repeats himself. It is the same for a singer, a painter ... There are always certain things that come back, for they are part of one's personality, of one's style. If these things didn't come into play, a personality would be so complex that it would become impossible to identify it.
It is not my intention to repeat myself, but in my work there should certainly be references to what I have done in the past. Say what you will, but The Trial is the best film I ever made ... I have never been so happy as when I made this film.
(talking about directing, The Trial (1962) - from Orson Welles: Interviews (book)) — Orson Welles

The voice of grief is rather convincing, isn't it? It tells you you're "too old," "not good enough," or "not worthy enough" for another chance at life, that starting over is impossible. This voice in your head is the first thing you hear in the morning and the last thing you hear at night. It drives with you to work. It stays with you at lunch. Its message is so consistent that because of its repetitive power, you may be inclined to believe it. But, as persuasive as the voice of grief is, everything it says is a lie.
It's all a pack of lies.
Do you want the truth? If you do, then start listening to life calling to you inside your grief.
How? Every time you are yearning to be held and loved, to laugh again, listen to your yearning. Do not listen to your fear . . . Listen to life calling you, "I am here, come on over. Take a chance on me. I am your life, and you're all that I've got. — Christina Rasmussen

At the beginning of all love there is a private treaty each of the lovers make with himself or herself, an agreement to set aside what is wrong with the other for the sake of what is right. Love is spring after winter. It comes to heal life's wounds, inflicted by the unloving cold. When that warmth is born in the heart the imperfections of the beloved are as nothing, less than nothing, and the secret treaty with oneself is easy to sign. The voice of doubt is stilled. Later, when love fades, the secret treaty looks like folly, but if so, it's a necessary folly, born of lovers' belief in beauty, which is to say, in the possibility of the impossible thing, true love. — Salman Rushdie

What about me?" I whisper. "Where do I belong?"
"With me," my mother and Galen say in unison. They exchange hard glares. Galen locks his jaw.
"I'm her mother," she tells Galen, her voice sharp. "Her place is with me."
"I want her for my mate," Galen says. The admission warms up the space between us with an impossible heat and I want to melt into him. His words, his declaration, cannot be unspoken. And now he's declared it to everyone who matters. It's out there in the open, hanging in the air. He wants me for his mate. Me. Him. Forever. — Anna Banks

Her face was severe but smiling. "What the hell did you do with my hairbrush, you stupid Saumensch, you little thief? ... The tirade went on for perhaps another minute, with Liesel making a desperate suggestion or two about the possible location of the said brush. It ended abruptly, with Rosa pulling Liesel close, just for a few seconds. Her whisper was almost impossible to hear, even at such close proximity. "You told me to yell at you. You said they'd all believe it." She looked left and right, her voice like needle and thread. "He woke up, Liesel. He's awake." From her pocket, she pulled out the toy soldier with the scratched exterior. "He said to give you this. It was his favorite." ... Before Liesel had a chance to answer, she finished it off. "Well? Answer me! Do you have any other idea where you might have left it? — Markus Zusak

Leo smiled nervously. Maybe he and Percy did share something else - a stupid sense of humor. "Yeah, I bet that would totally be against her sponsorship deal. THOSE ARE NOT THE OFFICIAL SHOES OF THE OLYMPICS! YOU WILL DIE NOW!" Hazel rolled her eyes. "You're both impossible." Behind Leo, a thunderous voice shook the ruins: "YOU WILL DIE NOW! — Rick Riordan

It was nigh impossible to understand Howard's speech under normal circumstances. He favored a pidgin of his lost African tongue and slave talk. In the old days, her mother had told her, that half language was the voice of the plantation. They had been stolen from villages all over Africa and spoke a multitude of tongues. The words from across the ocean were beaten out of them over time. For simplicity, to erase their identities, to smother uprisings. All the words except for the ones locked away by those who still remembered who they had been before. "They keep 'em hid like precious gold," Mabel said. — Colson Whitehead

This may be impossible for you to believe," Colt said in a hushed voice, "but as recently as last year, I was a hyper, naive-albeit extremely good-looking-minor myself."
"And now you're a persistent, outdoorsy, unshaven man-boy who cavorts with clones of your former self?"
Colt plucked a round stone out of the water. "I prefer boy-man, but the rest of the sentence sounded fairly accurate. — Karsten Knight

The voice of conscience is so delicate that it is easy to stifle it; but it is also so clear that it is impossible to mistake it. — Madame De Stael

Wile E. Coyote is a coyote with nothing but good intentions. But Road Runner comes along and is unattainable, he wants it and can't get it, and thus he becomes a villain that is impossible to be around. Bill O'Reilly is a villain that is so in love with himself and the sound of his voice that he's literally become the personification of evil. — Shawn Hatosy

The IMPOSSIBLE is ONLY relevant to those who NEVER attempt it ... otherwise it is ABSTACT and MEANINGLESS — John Paul Warren

He stares at his hands. Whatever word he wrote there, its been crossed off. There's only a black box. "Lola, you were the only person I wanted there that night. I was crazy about you, but I didn't know what to do. It was paralyzing. There were so many times when I wanted to take your hand, but ... I couldn't. That one small move felt impossible."
Now I'm staring at my hands, too. "I would have let you take it."
"I know." His voice croaks. — Stephanie Perkins

Still doing your best to ruin the horses, I see.'
Katsa froze. The voice came from above rather than behind, and it didn't sound quite like Skye. She turned.
'I though it was supposed to be impossible to sneak up on you. Eyes of a hawk and ears of a wolf and all that,' he said- and there, he was there, standing straight, eyes glimmering, mouth twitching, and the path he'd plowed through the snow stretching behind him. Katsa cried out and ran, tackling Po so hard that he fell back into the snow and she on top of him. And he laughed, and held her tight, and she was crying; and then Bitterblue came and threw herself squealing on top of them. — Kristin Cashore

His eyes darkened as they moved from her face, to her breasts, to the tingling spot between her legs.
She writhed beneath him, and he fell over her. "You want this?" he asked, his voice rumbling against the shell of her ear.
Her entire body throbbed. "Yes."
"You want my mouth on you?"
Heat flooded her, and her dry throat made it almost impossible to answer. "I do." Oh God, she did. She really did.
"Where?"
"Everywhere," she whispered. — Cathryn Fox

A spiritual life without discipline is impossible. Discipline is the other side of discipleship. The practice of a spiritual discipline makes us more sensitive to the small, gentle voice of God. — Henri J.M. Nouwen

I can't tell if you want it to be true," he says in a low voice that I feel as if I'm the only one who can hear. "I don't know either," I tell him honestly. "But if you are, I think I need to go to church tomorrow, because that means impossible things exist like unicorns and the resurrection." He laughs then, a wide mouthed, white teeth flashing. "Tomorrow's Friday." I nod. "I know, but it can't ever be too early to repent. — Jen Frederick

Myrtle


How funny your name would be
if you could follow it back to where
the first person thought of saying it,
naming himself that, or maybe
some other persons thought of it
and named that person. It would
be like following a river to its source,
which would be impossible. Rivers have no source.
They just automatically appear at a place
where they get wider, and soon a real
river comes along, with fish and debris,
regal as you please, and someone
has already given it a name: St. Benno
(saints are popular for this purpose) or, or
some other name, the name of his
long-lost girlfriend, who comes
at long last to impersonate that river,
on a stage, her voice clanking
like its bed, her clothing of sand
and pasted paper, a piece of real technology,
while all along she is thinking, I can
do what I want to do. But I want to stay here. — John Ashbery

Every man would fall in love with their voice, their lovely appearance, but no man would ever get past that. They'd never really know the girls for who they actually were, never really love them. It would be impossible for any of the four girls to ever really fall in love and be genuinely loved in return. — Amanda Hocking

The tide will turn, Miss Willow." A smile lurked around his mouth, but no, that was not possible, that the earl of Tiern-Cope should smile, and at her.
"It hasn't yet."
"You may find the sea casts you onto the shores of paradise." His voice was low and soft, and Olivia felt her heart stir at the sound. "Or through the very gates of hell."
"So it might." She gave herself a mental shake. Lord Tiern-Cope could not possibly be flirting with her. Impossible. "But that won't stop me from embracing this moment in all its beautiful perfection."
"With but one flaw, Miss Willow."
"Whatever could that be?"
"Don't even try to tell me I don't spoil the present perfection of your moment." The corner of his lip twitched and then gave up. He smiled, and she, perverse creature that she was, felt like she'd been tossed off a cliff with him standing at the bottom to catch her. — Carolyn Jewel

In the end," Callum said, his voice soft, gentle, "it all comes back to you. You protect them [your pack], you love them, you live for them, and someday, you die. That's what it means, Bryn-girl, to be what we are [to be Alpha]. It's lonely. It's impossible. It's all-consuming." It is what it is. — Jennifer Lynn Barnes

How to Write a Thesis," then, isn't just about fulfilling a degree requirement. It's also about engaging difference and attempting a project that is seemingly impossible, humbly reckoning with "the knowledge that anyone can teach us something." It models a kind of self-actualization, a belief in the integrity of one's own voice. — Anonymous

Let's go for a walk, Mollie." Frank Spencer stiffened, but Mollie's annoying lawyer spoke in a calm voice. "They say that when a wolf wants to lead a sheep to slaughter, he'll try to cut her off from the herd where he can do his worst in private." There was snickering around the firelight as the entire herd moved in to protect the object of his affections. With the grinning faces of several men gloating at him, it would be impossible to sneak Mollie away. Zack turned to her with a pleasant smile on his face. "You know how in mythology the blind man is always the source of great wisdom and insight? Why couldn't you find one of those blind guys to be friends with?" Frank appeared flattered by the statement. He grinned as he warmed his hands before the brazier. — Elizabeth Camden

Dave once asked me what blind people dream about. Mostly in sound and feeling, I replied. At night I fall in love with a voice, and then wake to a feeling of physical loss. Sometimes I close my eyes to a chorus of "Happy Birthday!" The smell of cake and the sound of feet under the table. I awake in a body that's too big. I also dream in motion and sensation. My father's boat and the snore of the mast; the rough fabric of the safety harness and the rip of Velcro. The sun on my legs. And endless stretch of water impossible to imagine. — Simon Van Booy

FOR A VERY LONG MOMENT WE ALL STOOD IN A FROZEN tableau of hostile indecision. Debs and Recht stared at each other, Deke breathed through his mouth, and I tried to decide whether assisting the fallen woman was technically within my jurisdiction as a blood-spatter analyst. And then there was a clatter at the front door and I heard a minor commotion behind me. "Shit," a male voice called out, quite clearly. "Shit, shit, shit." It was impossible to argue with the general sentiment, but nevertheless I turned around to see if I could gather some specifics. A middle-aged man hurried toward us. He was tall and soft-looking and had close-cropped gray hair and a matching beard. He slid to one knee beside Mrs. Aldovar and picked up her hand. "Hey, Emily? Honey?" he said as he patted her hand. "Come on, Em." I — Jeff Lindsay

May God remind us daily - no matter what kind of obstacles we face - that we are loved and empowered by the One who brought the universe into existence with the mere sound of His voice. Nothing is impossible for Him. — Beth Moore

I know the Infinite's voice because He tells me everything I don't want to hear, sends me where I don't want to go, and asks me to fulfill tasks I consider impossible. Above all, He is forever right. — R.J. Larson

For me, the moment the mic is on and it's rolling, it's impossible to vocally relax for some reason. But one day, I'm going to be able to sing the way I sang when I was a little kid, completely open and free. That's, I think, the one thing that's changed: Growing older, I'm not ashamed to hear my voice. — Cat Power

Although as a rule the absurd culminates, and it seems impossible for the voice of the individual ever to penetrate through the chorus of foolers and fooled, still there is left to the genuine works of all times a quite peculiar, silent, slow, and powerful influence; and as if by a miracle, we see them rise at last out of the turmoil like a balloon that floats up out of the thick atmosphere of this globe into purer regions. Having once arrived there, it remains at rest, and no one can any longer draw it down again. — Arthur Schopenhauer

The intruder took a step forward, and Moody's voice asked, "Severus Snape?" Then the dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed him, raising its dead hand.
"It was not I who killed you, Albus," said a quiet voice.
The jinx broke: The dust-figure exploded again, and it was impossible to make out the newcomer through the dense gray cloud it left behind.
Harry pointed his wand into the middle of it.
"Don't move!"
He had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: At the sound of his yell, the curtains hiding her flew open and she began to scream, "Mudbloods and filth dishonoring my house--"
Ron and Hermione came crashing down the stairs behind Harry, wants pointing, like his, at the unknown man now standing with his arms raised in the hall below.
"Hold your fire, it's me, Remus!"
"Oh, thank goodness," said Hermione weakly, pointing her wand at Mrs. Black instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. — J.K. Rowling

She took a shaky swallow of wine. "She didn't know me. When we were face-to-face again, and she looked right at me. She didn't know me."
"Did that hurt you?"
"No. I don't know. I couldn't think. I just know that for a minute I was nothing again. Like they - she - took everything from me. Roarke, my badge, my life, myself. For a minute it was just gone because she was there. I can't be nothing again."
"You could never be nothing." Roarke spoke in a voice of barely controlled rage. "You're what you made yourself against the impossible. Even when you were helpless they couldn't destroy what you are. You're a miracle. You're my miracle, and you'll never be anything else. — J.D. Robb

If I were a psychiatrist, I should advise my patients who suffer from "anguish" to read this poem of Baudelaire's whenever an attack seems imminent. Very gently, they should pronounce Baudelaire's key word, vast. For it is a word that brings calm and unity; it opens up unlimited space. It also teaches us to breathe with the air that rests on the horizon, far from the walls of the chimerical prisons that are the cause of our anguish. It has a vocal excellence that is effective on the very threshhold of our vocal powers. The French baritone, Charles Panzera, who is sensitive to poetry, once told me that, according to certain experimental psychologists, it is impossible to think the vowel sound ah without a tautening of the vocal chords. In other words, we read ah and the voice is ready to sing. The letter a, which is the main body of the word vast, stands aloof in its delicacy, an anacoluthon of spoken sensibility. — Gaston Bachelard

Sam heard someone bellow in the distance, but the sound of freight trains running in his ears dampened the sound, making it impossible for him to locate the source of the cry. When he heard it sound again, closer, the voice sounded familiar somehow. He strained to listen past the thundering racket in his ears, only to be rewarded by another holler from the voice. This time, he recognized the voice as his own. — J.M. Northup

She looked at them with shining eyes. Her chin went up. She said:
"You regard it as impossible that a sinner should be struck down
by the wrath of God! I do not!"
The judge stroked his chin. He murmured in a slightly ironic voice:
"My dear lady, in my experience of ill-doing, Providence leaves the work
of conviction and chastisement to us mortals-and the process is often
fraught with difficulties. There are no short cuts. — Agatha Christie

Silence,they say,is the voice of complicity. But silence is impossible. Silence screams. Silence is the message,just as doing nothing is an act. Let who you are ring out and resonate in every word and deed. Yes,become who you are. There's no sidestepping your own being or your own responsibility. What you do is who you are. You are your own comeuppance. You become your own message. You are the message. In the Spirit of Crazy Horse. — Leonard Peltier

He tilted his head to one side, considering me, his weathered face impossible to read. But his voice was kind as he said, There are lots of mistakes you can make. Pilots make them, and pilots die. Obstacles will kill you. The weather will kill you. But, as I'm about to show you, the airplane is your friend. The plane wants to fly. — Jennifer Echols

Archie had exciting news for me one day, ---He had just been to Washington and The Baptist World Alliance wanted him to become their Baptist World Aid Secretary. --- What a challenge, what an opportunity, what a frightening, impossible job, I thought all at once. Then a still, small voice within me reminded me: "With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible." Matt. 1926 — Helen Goldie

Losing your faith in a world where God is all around you is a precarious business. When God shows his face on a daily basis to your friends and neighbors, it is, on some level, impossible to stop believing in Him. Instead i felt that God chose to exclude me from His world. Since i was the only one to lose faith, to stop hearing Christ's voice, i thought perhaps it was my fault that Roy had left us. I thought i was being punished for some unknown sin. I had learned early in my Catholic career that one could sin silently in one's heart. One could even sin without ever discovering what one had done or why it was wrong. What had i done, i asked myself, to make God disappear and take Roy with Him. — Alison Smith

Coco?" I whispered, standing still, hardly able to believe it. "Oh - Coco?" "It is impossible to imagine," a voice behind seemed to be saying from a great distance away, "how the dog could have reached this spot. For three days he has been immovable in his kennel." I dropped on my knees, and took his paw in my hand. He gave the faintest wag of his tail, and tried to raise his head; but it fell back again, and he could only look at me. For an instant, for the briefest instant, we looked at each other, and while we looked his eyes glazed. "Coco - I've come back. Darling - I'll never leave you any more - - " I don't know why I said these things. I knew he was dead, and that no calls, no lamentations, no love could ever reach him again. Sliding down on to the stone flags beside him, I laid my head on his and wept in an agony of bitter grief. Now indeed I was left alone in the world. Even my dog was gone. — Elizabeth Von Arnim

Ned looked down gravely at the sword in his hands. "This is no toy for children, least of all for a girl. What would Septa Mordane say if she knew you were playing with swords?"
"I wasn't playing," Arya insisted. "I hate Septa Mordane."
"That's enough." Her father's voice was curt and hard. "The septa is doing no more than is her duty, though gods know you have made it a struggle for the poor woman. Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady. — George R R Martin

A mockingbird has moved into our neighborhood. It perches atop a telephone pole behind our backyard. Every morning it is the first thing I hear. It is impossible to be unhappy when listening to a mockingbird. So stuffed with songs it is, it can't seem to make up it's mind which to sing first, so it sings them all, a dozen different songs at once, in a dozen different voices. On and on it sings without a pause, so peppy, even frantic, as if its voice alone is keeping the world awake. — Jerry Spinelli

Whenever you are willing to obey me, Much-Afraid, and to follow the path of my choice, you will always be able to hear and recognize my voice, and when you hear it you must always obey. Remember also that it is always safe to obey my voice, even if it seems to call you to paths which look impossible or even crazy. — Hannah Hurnard

We're a people at war,' she began, voice loud and clear. 'We're constantly attacked - but not just by Strigoi. By one another. We're divided. We fight with one another. Family against family. Royal against non-royal. Moroi against dhampir. Of course the Strigoi are picking us off. They're at least united behind a goal: killing.'
[ ... ]
'We are one people,' she continued. 'Moroi and dhampir alike.' Yeah, that got some gasps too. 'And while it's impossible for every single person to get their way, no one will get anything done if we don't come together and find ways to meet in the middle - even if it means making hard choices.'
[ ... ]
We've kept magic alongside technology. We conduct these sessions with scrolls and - with these.' She smiled and tapped her microphone. 'That's how we have survived. We hold onto our That's how we have survived. That's how we will survive. — Richelle Mead

We have been impossible right from the beginning and we must continue to be impossible because we are raising a voice against suffering which has been considered to be the nature of life. It is our joy to be considered impossible - and it is our greater joy to make the impossible a living reality. — Maharishi Mahesh Yogi

It's an impossible castle in an enchanted snowstorm in a haunted forest," I said in a voice slightly more shrill than I had hoped for. "Naturally there are invisible servants to care for the horses." "Naturally." Father sounded as rattled as I, which made me feel a little better. — C.E. Murphy

I don't enjoy hearing the sound of my voice. The most important things for me are impossible to articulate extemporaneously. — Annie Baker

I was still a little amazed that this was happening. That this, the thing that had seemed so impossible, so terrifying, so utterly beyond me, was happening. I was having fun. And that I was the one who made it happen. "I did it," I said out loud, sendind my voice up to the stars above me, not really caring if the others heard me. — Morgan Matson

In this world of human affairs there is no worse nuisance than a boy at the age of fourteen. He is neither ornamental nor useful. It is impossible to shower affection on him as on a little boy; and he is always getting in the way. If he talks with a childish lisp he is called a baby, and if he answers in a grown-up way he is called impertinent. In fact any talk at all from him is resented. Then he is at the unattractive, growing age. He grows out of his clothes with indecent haste; his voice grows hoarse and breaks and quavers; his face grows suddenly angular and unsightly. It is easy to excuse the shortcomings of early childhood, but it is hard to tolerate even unavoidable lapses in a boy of fourteen. — Rabindranath Tagore

You are the sweetest man, Savannah inserted softly, her voice brushing at him. Echoing.
Gregori frowned. Echoing? Close. He swung around, cursing in French, an eloquent dissertation that had Gary cringing. Savannah,however, simply took Gregori's arm and smiled up at him, the stars in her eyes dancing. She was like that.Distracting him and then slamming him sideways with her smile. With her blue-violet eyes with their accursed star centers. She didn't even have the decency to look repentant.
Don't be angry, Gregori.I was lonesome in the house all by myself. Are you really,really angry? Or just a little angry? Her voice was soft, a siren's whisper, made of silk sheets and candlelight. Her long lashes were thick and heavy, a sweep of magic that caught his eye and held it there.
It is impossible for you to be lonely when you are always running around in my head. — Christine Feehan

Of all the classes of men, I dislike the most those who make their livings by talking - actors, clergymen, politicians, pedagogues, and so on ... It is almost impossible to imagine a talker who sticks to the facts. Carried away by the sound of his own voice and the applause from the groundlings, he makes inevitably the jump from logic to mere rhetoric. — H.L. Mencken

I recalled the hundreds of occasions when life had died within me only to be reborn. I remembered that I only lived during those times when I believed in God. Then, as now, I said to myself: I have only to believe in God in order to live. I have only to disbelieve in Him, or to forget Him, in order to die. What are these deaths and rebirths? It is clear that I do not live when I lose belief in God's existence, and I should have killed myself long ago, were it not for a dim hope of finding Him. What then is it you are seeking? a voice exclaimed inside me. There He is! He, without whom it is impossible to live. To know God and to live are one and the same thing. God is life.

'Live in search of God and there will be no life without God!' And more powerfully than ever before everything within and around me came to light, and the light has not deserted me since. — Leo Tolstoy

Have you ever thought of yourself as a great being?Have you ever been deeply moved by a thought that came from inside?
One day, I heard a voice inside me sincerely concerned for the future of the earth and humanity. That voice asked, Would a world where all life forms on this earth live together in peace and harmony be impossible? That voice answered, If all people really wanted that and chose that kind of world, why wouldn't it come true? — Ilchi Lee

It is impossible that the whisper of a faction should prevail against the voice of a nation. — Lord John Russell

I said, "I don't think I can give you that kind of emotion." And he [Hitchcock] sat there and said, "Ingrid, fake it!" Well, that was the best advice I've had in my whole life, because in all the years to come there were many directors who gave me what I thought were quite impossible instructions and many difficult things to do, and just when I was on the verge of starting to argue with them, I heard his voice coming to me through the air saying, "Ingrid, fake it!" It saved a lot of unpleasant situations and waste of time. — Ingrid Bergman

Her voice was slightly accented but her French was perfect. Someone who'd not just learned the language but loved it. And it showed with every syllable. Gamache knew it was impossible to split language from culture. That without one the other withered. To love the language was to respect the culture. — Louise Penny

What is your least favorite part of the male anatomy?" "Uh ... what?" "Come on." I nudged her shoulder. "You have to have a least favorite part." Marie stared at me for a beat then blinked rapidly. "Really? I just pour out my heart to you and ... ." "Balls," Ashley announced unceremoniously from her place on the floor. Elizabeth snickered. "Oh, my lord." Marie covered her face with her hands and shook her head. I ignored her and leaned closer to Ashley. "I know, right? I mean, shouldn't those things be on the inside?" Janie's thoughtfully distracted voice chimed in. "I feel like the rest of the male body makes a lot of sense. And then ... balls." "Yes!" "It makes me think maybe God is an alien or ran out of alluring parts before he got to the male reproductive system." "They never look nice; it's basically impossible. You can't dress them up, and I've seen a lot of balls in the ER. I've never seen a man's balls and thought to myself, Now that guy has a great set of testicles — Penny Reid

Utter objectivity ... is not only impossible when judging literature, it's not exactly desirable. Fiction involves trace elements of magic; it works for reasons we can explain and also for reasons we can't. If novels or short-story collections could be weighed strictly in terms of their components (fully developed characters, check; original voice, check; solidly crafted structure, check; serious theme, check) they might satisfy, but they would fail to enchant. A great work of fiction involves a certain frisson that occurs when its various components cohere and then ignite.
(Source: "Letter from the Pulitzer Fiction Jury: What Really Happened This Year" in The New Yorker.) — Michael Cunningham

Your demons are always with you," Skale answered. His voice seemed even raspier than the day before. "Don't you understand that by now? Always with you, impossible to escape. But you never can guess how they might manifest themselves. — James Dashner

Her voice was soft and numinous, as befitted any Aizian singer, yet it was not just bells and melody. There was something else in her tune, a strand of solemnity that no Aizian could possess, for it yearned for something far away, whereas Aizians needed only open their eyes to behold the greatest wonders. Yes, she was in Aizai now, but she hadn't always been, and for how much longer was impossible to say. — Mary-Jean Harris

I get to keep you," he said, staring at me with an
intensity that made me shiver.
"Keep me?" I asked, reaching up to kiss his chin and trail
kisses down his perfect neck.
"Not here. I can't take much more, Pagan. I'm only so
strong," he said in a husky voice as he pulled me against his
chest. "You're mine now. While you walk the Earth you
belong to me. Nothing can hurt you." I heard a touch of
humor in his voice. "It's pretty impossible to hurt what Death
protects. — Abbi Glines

If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble yourself to answer - I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother - or father, or master, or what you will - to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going? — Charlotte Bronte

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. "You could do a lot worse." At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift ... it is perfect. So when I rise up on my tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all. — Suzanne Collins