When God had made The Man, he made him out of stuff that sung all the time and glittered all over. Some angels got jealous and chopped him into millions of pieces, but still he glittered and hummed. So they beat him down to nothing but sparks but each little spark had a shine and a song. So they covered each one over with mud. And the lonesomeness in the sparks make them hunt for one another.
Quotes about hummed (7 Quotes)
At night I would lie in bed and watch the show, how bees squeezed through the cracks of my bedroom wall and flew circles around the room, making that propeller sound, a high-pitched zzzzzz that hummed along my skin. I watched their wings shining like bits of chrome in the dark and felt the longing build in my chest. The way those bees flew, not even looking for a flower, just flying for the feel of the wind, split my heart down its seam.
Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea -- on, on -- until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the watch dark, ghostly figures in their several stations but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder word for another on that day than on any day in the year and had shared to some extent in its festivities and had remembered those he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember him.
The floor of McMahon Stadium has rocked and has hummed with an unbelievable feeling. It's exactly what you'd like to have every time you play.
The air came laden with the fragrance it caught upon its way, and the bees, upborne upon its scented breath, hummed forth their drowsy satisfaction as they floated by.
Music, the universal language of mankind, is also a form of beauty at its best. As language differs among peoples, so does the language of music differ with time, place, background and experience but if it is true music, it strikes a responsive chord. In a Japanese home at Christmas-time, I was the only person in the group who spoke English. Yet ways of communication were found. Thinking of home, I hummed softly to myself, 'Silent Night.' To my surprise, the French guest, the German guest and the Japanese family joined in singing the universally inspiring Christmas song, each in his own language, yet in the same language, the language of the heart.
In the dark room a cloud of yellow dust flew from beneath the tool like a scatter of sparks from under the hooves of a galloping horse. The twin wheels turned and hummed. Binet was smiling, his chin down, his nostrils distended. He seemed lost in the kind of happiness which, as a rule, accompanies only those mediocre occupations that tickle the intelligence with easy difficulties, and satisfy it with a sense of achievement beyond which there is nothing left for dreams to feed on.