Talking In Whispers Quotes & Sayings

But, whatever the magic, I wasn't smarter than chemistry, and after a while, I heard two people talking in the empty room next door, their whispers coming out of the phone jack. — Frederick Weisel

I'd fix it all for you if I could. You know that, right?" He whispers. I wonder if he's talking about my scars or the last four years of my life. "Yes," is all I say. Yes to all of it. — K.A. Tucker

Courage is not an absence of fear, but an act of the will to move forward in the presence of fear. Fear whispers, "You might ... " Courage rebuffs it with, "Sure, but ... ." To seek a fearless life is not the same as seeking a life of courage. If we're talking about story, which is about nothing if not life, no one gives a damn about fearlessness. Very few great stories move forward with a fearless hero. Why would they? — David DuChemin

Jesus won't try to speak over the noise in our lives; love whispers so we won't be confused about who's doing the talking. — Bob Goff

I'd never been a talker in sex. Never saw the allure of dirty whispers. But now all I could think about was talking filthy and wrong. — Pepper Winters

Mistrust is the fuel for so much mental pain, so many mental disorders. I am not talking here about the suspicions we sometimes have of one another, the distant but lurking sense that perhaps our lover lies to us, our best friend whispers behind our back. I am talking about a belief that betrayal inundates the atoms of the universe, is so woven into the workings of the world that every step is treacherous, and that below the rich mud lies a mine. — Lauren Slater

Vaughn is talking about the heat, and his voice is so excited that it breaks into whispers at times. He loves his madness the way a bird loves the sky. — Lauren DeStefano

You know, you're topping from the bottom," he murmurs against my lips.
"What?" I don't understand what he's talking about.
"Don't worry. I'll live with it," he whispers, amused ... — E.L. James

Keep talking to me," he whispers.
I pause. "Doesn't noise hurt your head?"
Thick lashes cast shadows at the tops of his cheeks. "Your voice isn't noise. It's a song I want to hear over and over."
Oh. My. — Kristen Callihan

servants' part of the house, the half-clad domestics were talking in low whispers to each other. Old Mrs. Leaf was crying and wringing her hands. Francis was as pale as death. After about a quarter of an hour, he got the coachman and one of the footmen and crept upstairs. They knocked, but there was no reply. They called out. Everything was still. Finally, after vainly trying to force the door, they got on the roof and dropped down on to the balcony. The windows yielded easily--their bolts — Oscar Wilde

Inside, in the servants' part of the house, the half-clad domestics were talking in low whispers to each other. Old Mrs. Leaf was crying and wringing — Oscar Wilde

How beautiful the old Glen was, in its August ripeness, with its chain of bowery old homesteads, tilled meadows and quiet gardens. The western sky was like a great golden pearl. Far down the harbour was frosted with a dawning moonlight. The air was full of exquisite sounds - sleepy robin whistles, wonderful, mournful, soft murmurs of wind in the twilit trees, rustle of aspen poplars talking in silvery whispers and shaking their dainty, heart-shaped leaves, lilting young laughter from the windows of rooms where the girls were making ready for the dance. The world was steeped in maddening loveliness of sound and colour. He would think only of these things and of the deep, subtle joy they gave him. — L.M. Montgomery

My abortion was a normal medical procedure that got tangled up in my bad relationship, my internalized fatphobia, my fear of adulthood, my discomfort with talking about sex; and one that, because of our culture's obsession with punishing female sexuality and shackling women to the nursery and the kitchen, I was socialized to approach with shame and describe only in whispers. But the procedure itself was the easiest part. Not being able to have one would have been the real trauma. — Lindy West

I'm not staying with him for the pain. It's what he says in his sleep. When he's moaning, he whispers. The cry he utters with a face so full of sorrow.
"So ... "
" ... rry ... "
"I'm sorry ... "
It makes me sad that no one hears his apology. — SHOOWA

If you can call it talking, these clipped whispers, projected through the funnels of our white wings. It's more like a telegram, a verbal semaphore. Amputated speech. — Margaret Atwood

Sometimes at night, when I wake up real late, I can hear my dad talking to God. He whispers, but I still hear him. I even hear him crying sometimes, when God says something sad. — Jeff Lemire