extreme visual clarity, tunnel vision, diminished sound, and the sense that time is slowing down. this is how the human body reacts to extreme stress.
Malcolm GladwellRead
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776 quotes
extreme visual clarity, tunnel vision, diminished sound, and the sense that time is slowing down. this is how the human body reacts to extreme stress.
Last time I talked to her she didn't sound like herself. She's depressed. It's awful what happens when people run out of money. They start thinking they're no good.
I want it to sound like an orange.
America is a hurricane, and the only people who do not hear the sound are those fortunate if incredibly stupid and smug White Protestants who live in the center, in the serene eye of the big wind.
What is indispensable to inspiration? ...sound sleep and the provocation of a good book or a companion.
There is no sound more feminine than a woman in a taffeta dress.
There are certain sounds that I've found work well in nearly any context. Their function is not so much musical as spatial: they define the edges of the territory of the music.
George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated her, as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed. He stepped quickly forward and kissed her. Before she could speak, almost before she could feel, a voice called 'Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!' The silence of life had been broken by Miss Bartlett, who stood brown against the view.
You want to cry aloud for your mistakes. But to tell the truth the world doesn't need any more of that sound.
I'd like to get something together - like a Handel, Bach, Muddy waters, flamenco type of thing. If I could get that sound, I'd be happy
The artist brain is the sensory brain: sight and sound, smell and taste, touch. These are the elements of magic, and magic is the elemental stuff of art. In filling the well, think magic. Think delight. Think fun. Do not think duty. Do not do what you should do-spiritual sit-ups like reading a dull but recommended critical text. Do what intrigues you, explore what interests you; think mystery, not mastery.
More and more people are seeing the films on computers - lousy sound, lousy picture - and they think they've seen the film, but they really haven't.
But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed?
Hearing the sound of your breathing as you sleep,_x000D_ with the dog at your feet, his head resting_x000D_ on a shoe, and the clock's ticking_x000D_ like water dripping in a sink - I know that, even if reincarnation were a fact,_x000D_ given the inherent cruelty of the world_x000D_ where beautiful things and people_x000D_ are blasted apart all the day long,_x000D_ I would never want to come back, knowing_x000D_ I could never be this lucky twice.
If we had better hearing, and could discern the descants of sea birds, the rhythmic tympani of schools of mollusks, or even the distant harmonics of midges hanging over meadows in the sun, the combined sound might lift us off our feet.
. . . Virtue, morality, and religion. This is the armor, my friend, and this alone that renders us invincible. These are the tactics we should study. If we lose these, we are conquered, fallen indeed . . . so long as our manners and principles remain sound, there is no danger.
As frightening as this may sound, what you see in the books is the way I see the world. And so far I haven't seen anything, either in Florida or elsewhere, to dissuade me from it.
Tomorrow is in the wings waiting for you to sound her entrance fanfare.
No taste of food, no feel of water, no sound of wind, no memory of tree or grass or flower, no image of moon or star are left to me. I am naked in the dark, Sam, and there is no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else fades.
As I have said before, the daily machinations of the stock market are like a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
as some strings, untouched, sound when no one is speaking. So it was when love slipped inside us.
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