Hope smiles on the threshold of the year to come, whispering that it will be happier.
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The whispering waves were half asleep, The clouds were gone to play, And on the bosom of the deep The smile of Heaven lay;
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There is a great solitude about such a shore. The woods are never solitary- they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity. We can never pierce its infinite mystery- we may only wander, awed and spell-bound, on the outer fringe of it. The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only- a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.
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Let my whispering voice obtain Sweet reward for sharpest pain;
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Irony is a disciplinarian feared only by those who do not know it, but cherished by those who do. He who does not understand irony and has no ear for its whispering lacks of what might called the absolute beginning of the personal life. He lacks what at moments is indispensable for the personal life, lacks both the regeneration and rejuvenation, the cleaning baptism of irony that redeems the soul from having its life in finitude though living boldly and energetically in finitude.
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'In the words of the Spanish philosopher, Miguel de Unamuno, 'Sometimes to be silent is to lie.' Our movement hasn't been silent but whispering at a barely audible level... it hardly represents the brutal truth!'
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
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We need the tonic of wildness, to wade sometimes in marshes where the bittern and the meadow-hen lurk, and hear the booming of the snipe; to smell the whispering sedge where only some wilder and more solitary fowl builds her nest, and the mink crawls with its belly close to the ground.
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For thousands of years, conquering warriors returning home from the wars were honored with a tumultuous parade, the day’s prisoners and captured treasures displayed in carts before him. Sometimes his children, dressed in white, rode in the chariot with him or rode trace horses beside him. Standing behind him was a slave, holding above his head a golden crown and whispering in his ear a warning, that all glory is fleeting.
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Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear;
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Angels around us, angels beside us, angels within us. Angels are watching over you when times are good or stressed. Their wings wrap gently around you, whispering you are loved and blessed.
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A little still she strove, and much repented, and whispering, I will ne'er consent - consented
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When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music. Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?
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To open your eyes and see the sky is not enough. To open your ears is still not enough. For only if you open your mind will you hear the clouds whispering love's sweet songs and dancing together accross the noisy sea.
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The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering galleries, they are clearly heard at the end, and by posterity.
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I believe that uncertainty is rally my spirit's way of whispering, I'm in flux. I can't decide for you. Something is off-balance here.
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