Voice Culture and ElocutionBaker & Taylor, 1890 - 364 страници |
Често срещани думи и фрази
abdominal ad ag Alice Cary arms articulation Arytenoid Muscle aspirates bell blow body breast breath Calisthenic called Cartilage Catiline circumflex Coriolanus dark death degree elements elocution emotions Epiglottis exercises eyes fall fingers flowers force front gesture given giving the syllables glottis golden grace hand head heart heaven Julius Cæsar la la la larynx liberty light lips look lungs modulation monophthongs mouth movement muscles never night numbers o'er oblique octave Othello pause phatic physical expression pitch position practice production of tone resonant right foot Ring rising scorn sentence Shakespeare side sing sleep slide soft soft palate song soul speak speaker stress sub-vocals Supine sweet syllable tell thee thou thought and feeling throat Thyroid Cartilage tion tongue Trachea vocal ligaments Voice Culture whisper wild wind words
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Страница 235 - The gay will laugh / When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
Страница 213 - That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
Страница 168 - I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below...
Страница 68 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Страница 346 - Peace, peace— but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
Страница 232 - Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young Lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts today Feel the gladness of the May!
Страница 174 - tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face: But when he once attains the upmost round, He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend: So Caesar may; Then, lest he may, prevent.
Страница 237 - This royal throne of kings, this scept'red isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea...
Страница 214 - Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of since — his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl.
Страница 200 - How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we...