Hums Quotes

“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.”

“...the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep ...”

“I can see the caravanserai, like a mirage in the distance. The heat hums. I thought I saw water. What would you have on these trade winds for your comfort?”

“Hmm," she hums after a moment."What?""Just thinking...We both want you to get this role.""No sh*t.""And arguing obviously isn't helping us out."I snort. "But that's what we do.”

“Eternity hums with every beating heart, with every up-lifted voice, with the crash of waves, the whirl of wind across the shifting dunes, the cry of sea birds, and the trumpets of heavenly angels.”

“The mythology of your culture hums in your ears so constantly that no one pays the slightest bit of attention to it. Of course man is conquering space and the atom and the deserts and the oceans and the elements. According to your mythology, this is what he was BORN to do.”

“What I Found in My DeskA ripe peach with an ugly bruise,a pair of stinky tennis shoes,a day-old ham-and-cheese on rye,a swimsuit that I left to dry,a pencil that glows in the dark,some bubble gum found in the park,a paper bag with cookie crumbs,an old kazoo that barely hums,a spelling test I almost failed,a letter that I should have mailed,and one more thing, I must confess,a note from teacher: Clean This Mess!!!!”

“Hey, Lou?” he hums, casual as anything.“Hm?”“Wanna hear my poem?”Oh dear god. Seriously?Gritting his teeth to keep from laughing or grinning or falling over his own two feet, Louis arches an inquiring eyebrow, turning to meet Harry’s stare. Of course, the bastard is grinning, proud and loud and pleased.Harry blinks, slow enough that Louis briefly wonders if the planet’s begun to rotate slower, has maybe begun to rotate backwards, even. “It goes, ‘He likes me, too.”

“It is also true that memory sometimes comes to him as a voice. It is a voice that speaks inside him, and it is not necessarily his own. It speaks to him in the way a voice might tell stories to a child, and yet at times this voice makes fun of him, or calls him to attention, or curses him in no uncertain terms. At times it willfully distorts the story it is telling him, changing the facts to suit its whims, catering to the interests of drama rather than truth. Then he must speak to it in his own voice and tell it to stop, thus returning it to the silence it came from. At other times it sings to him. At still other times it whispers. And then there are the times it merely hums, or babbles, or cries out in pain. And even when it says nothing, he knows it is still there, and in the silence of this voice that says nothing, he waits for it to speak.”