Inspirational quotes with microphone.
There’s always that one guy who gets a hold on you. Not like your best friend’s brother who gets you in a headlock kind of hold. Or the little kid you’re babysitting who attaches himself to your leg kind of hold. I’m talking epic. Life changing. The “can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t do your homework, can’t stop giggling, can’t remember anything but his smile” kind of hold. Like, Wesley and Buttercup proportions. Harry and Sally. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. The kind of hold in all your favorite ’80s songs, like the “Must Have Been Love”s, the “Take My Breath Away”s, the “Eternal Flame”s—the ones you sing into a hairbrush-microphone at the top of your lungs with your best friends on a Saturday night.
There are moments in every relationship that define when two people start to fall in love.A first glanceA first smileA first kissA first fall…(I remove the Darth Vader house shoes from my satchel and look down at them.)You were wearing these during one of those moments.One of the moments I first started to fall in love with you.The way you gave me butterflies that morningHad absolutely nothing to do with anyone else,and everything to do with you.I was falling in love with you that morningbecause of you.(I take the next item out of the satchel. When I pull it out and look up, she brings her hands to her mouth in shock.)This ugly little gnomeWith his smug little grin…He's the reason I had an excuse to invite you into my house.Into my life.You took a lot of aggression out on him over those next few months.I would watch from my window as you would kick him over every time you walked by him.Poor little guy.You were so tenacious.That feisty, aggressive, strong-willed side of you….The side of you that refused to take crap from this concrete gnome?The side of you that refused to take crap from me?I fell in love with that side of youbecause of you.(I set the gnome down on the stage and grab the CD)This is your favorite CD‘Layken’s shit.’Although now I know you intended for shit to be possessive, rather than descriptive.The banjo started playing through the speakers of your carand I immediately recognized my favorite band.Then when I realized it was your favorite band, too?The fact that these same lyrics inspired both of us?I fell in love with that about you.That had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else.I fell in love with that about youbecause of you.(I take a slip of paper out of the satchel and hold it up. When I look at her, I see Eddie slide her a napkin. I can’t tell from up here, but that can only mean she’s crying.)This is a receipt I kept.Only because the item I purchased that night was on the verge of ridiculous.Chocolate milk on the rocks? Who orders that?You were different, and you didn’t care.You were being you.A piece of me fell in love with you at that moment,because of you.This? (I hold up another sheet of paper.)This I didn’t really like so much.It’s the poem you wrote about me.The one you titled 'mean?'I don’t think I ever told you…but you made a zero.And then I kept itto remind myself of all the things I never want to be to you.(I pull her shirt from my bag. When I hold it into the light, I sigh into the microphone.)This is that ugly shirt you wear.It doesn’t really have anything to do with why I fell in love with you.I just saw it at your house and thought I’d steal it.
Be the voice, that can be heard without a microphone.
And the second [thing about the CBS EVENING NEWS that stands out in the mind of Michael J. Fox] was something Katie did later in the interview, as the drugs kicked in and the tremors segued into the jerkiness of dyskinesias. Somewhere in the contortions of making a point, my left arm detached the microphone clip from my jacket lapel. With no fuss and hardly a break in conversation or eye contact, she calmly leaned over and refastened it. Neither of us commented on it, but it was such an empathetic gesture, so far from anything patronizing or pitying, a simple kindness that allowed me the dignity to carry on making a point more important than the superficiality of my physical circumstance......One thing was abundantly clear though, whether or not she was able to forget how much she liked me: with that single act of consideration, she made it abundantly clear how much she loved her father.
Now, celebrations become tiring because they unfold in noisy chattering. The liturgy is sick. The most striking symptom of this sickness is perhaps the omnipresence of the microphone. It has become so indispensable that one wonders how priests were able to celebrate before it was invented.
If all the world were Christian, it might not matter if all the world were uneducated. But, as it is, a cultural life will exist outside the Church whether it exists inside or not. To be ignorant and simple now -- not to be able to meet the enemies on their own ground -- would be to throw down our weapons, and to betray our uneducated brethren who have, under God, no defense but us against the intellectual attacks of the heathen. Good philosophy must exist, if for no other reason, because bad philosophy needs to be answered. The cool intellect must work not only against cool intellect on the other side, but against the muddy heathen mysticisms which deny intellect altogether. Most of all, perhaps we need intimate knowledge of the past. Not that the past has any magic about it, but because we cannot study the future, and yet need something to set against the present, to remind us that periods and that much which seems certain to the uneducated is merely temporary fashion. A man who has lived in many place is not likely to be deceived by the local errors of his native village: the scholar has lived in many times and is therefore in some degree immune form the great cataract of nonsense that pours from the press and the microphone of his own age.
When everyone has a microphone, you can't hear anything. Choose one voice carefully and listen in.
Brian came in heavy at that moment on his guitar, the rapid, high-pitched squeal ranging back and forth as his fingers flew along the frets. As the intro's tempo grew more rapid, Bekka heard Derek's subtle bass line as it worked its way in. After another few seconds Will came in, slow at first, but racing along to match the others' pace. When their combined efforts seemed unable to get any heavier, David jumped into the mix.As the sound got nice and heavy, Bekka began to rock back-and-forth onstage. In front of her, hundreds of metal-lovers began to jump and gyrate to their music. She matched their movements for a moment, enjoying the connection that was being made, before stepping over to the keyboard that had been set up behind her. Sliding her microphone into an attached cradle, she assumed her position and got ready. Right on cue, all the others stopped playing, throwing the auditorium into an abrupt silence. Before the crowd could react, however, Bekka's fingers began to work the keys, issuing a rhythm that was much softer and slower than what had been built up. The audience's violent thrash-dance calmed at that moment and they began to sway in response.Bekka smiled to herself.This is what she lived for.
Spinning, flying, dreaming, falling, Running when I hear you calling, Even when you’re far from reach, I still can’t catch my breath.”Elliot paused and let Chris’s guitar echo for a long moment before he practically whispered the final line into his microphone.“The one you took from me….
She turned back to the reporter, holding out the microphone. “I'm not an expert, I'm a survivor. I hope you can learn how to be one yourself.
The sweet spot is a term used by audiophiles and recording engineers to describe the focal point between two sources of sound, where an individual is fully capable of hearing the audio mix the way it was intended to be heard by the musicians. Different static methods exist to broaden the area of the sweet spot.Sound engineers also refer to the sweet spot of any sound-producing body that may be captured with a microphone. Every individual instrument and voice has its own sweet spot, the perfect location to place the microphone or microphones in order to obtain the best sound.In tennis, baseball, or cricket, a given swing will result in a more powerful impact if the ball strikes the racquet or bat on the sweet spot, where a combination of factors results in a maximum response for a given amount of effort. The actual sweet spot on a racquet or bat is a very small area, where dispersing vibrations and spin in multiple directions are canceled out, resulting in a perfect contact point between incoming and outgoing energies.
I am a confused Musician who got sidetracked into this goddamn Word business for so long that I never got back to music - except maybe when I find myself oddly alone in a quiet room with only a typewriter to strum on and a yen to write a song. Who knows why? Maybe I just feel like singing - so I type.These quick electric keys are my Instrument, my harp, my RCA glass-tube microphone, and my fine soprano saxophone all at once. That is my music, for good or ill, and on some nights it will make me feel like a god. Veni, Vidi, Vici... That is when the fun starts...
How many men with a microphone can tell you what he loves the most?
It’s awkward to wake up one day to see the trumpet working hard to lead in the shoes of the microphone. You can only lead where you can function better!
The fact that you have access to the microphone doesn't mean you know everything. There are others listening to you, who know more things than you do, but do not have access to the platform to say it.
I always hated it when TV reporters stuck a microphone in the faces of people who'd just lost a home or a loved one, wanting to know how they felt. They felt like shit. They hurt, and they didn't know how they were going to get through the night. They wanted to scream and cry and hit the guy with the microphone.
This is the key to the entire universe. You know what this is? It's not a microphone, this right here is your voice. This physical thing just amplifies it. Don't be afraid of your voice. You have a voice without a microphone. Use it and don't let anybody snuff you out and tell you don't have one.
Don't start an argument with somebody who has a microphone when you don't. They'll make you look like chopped liver.
The one that sang, old Janine, was always whispering into the g***** microphone before she sang. She'd say, 'And now we like to geeve you our impression of Vooly Voo Fransay. Eet ees the story of leetle Fransh girl who comes to a beeg ceety, just like New York, and falls een love wees a leetle boy from Brookleen. We hope you like eet.' Then, when she was all done whispering and being cute as hell, she'd sing some dopey song, half in English and half in French, and drive all the phonies in the place mad with joy.
He let his guitar swing behind him and cupped my face with his hand. "I love you, Grace Taylor." It barely came out above a whisper from his lips but it echoed throught the microphone. And then he kissed me. In front of everyone, he kissed me. A slow, deep kiss that sent heat from my lips to every other surface of my skin, and completely an utterly set me on fire.
Celebration toward the east fosters silence. Indeed, there is less temptation for the celebrant to monopolize the conversation. Facing the Lord, he is less tempted to become a professor giving a lesson throughout the Mass, reducing the altar to a podium centered on the microphone instead of the Cross.
Stop the tape, cut the paper! I will just write another poem and grab a microphone and push record again!
A microphone is to a comic, what a pen is to a writer. There's power in it.
Halfway through the set, the lead singer, who goes by Cloud, knife in hand, begins to stab at the cutout of Copal Brandt with a lion's passion. Out of nowhere blood is produced and Cloud proceeds to rub it all over his own face and body, then on his own bandmates. Afterwards he roars into the microphone, 'Do you know why we're doing this, McAllen? We're doing this FOR NO PARTICULAR REASON!!!!!!!!!
Okay, I’ve got the hidden microphones with GPS here,” Agent Bounter said. “Let’s get one on you.”“Now, sir?” “The Russians are on the radar. It’s time.”As Bounter turned to pick up the tiny button-size microphone, Grant clenched his hands into fists, his anticipation bui
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