Sounds like a party at Elton John's house.
This album is one of the best albums in the past 20 years. There's nothing that touches this album. And that sounds like I'm being cocky, but I'm just so excited.
Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me, Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee; Sounds of the rude world heard in the day, Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd away.
It's complimacated. (sounds like compli-ma-kayted, emphasis on first syllable)
That sounds like a disadvantage.
Taup? What sort of colour is taup? It sounds like a Malaysian ground sloth encountered once every fifty years by one of the Attenboroughs wearing long socks.
Today, for five minutes, I will sit quietly and meditate and think pleasant thoughts and I will recite gentle positive messages to myself. Oh yeah, that really sounds like me. I'm sure I'm going to do that. Right.
But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be.
It sounds creepy, but I always liked the idea of disappearing then becoming something new. That of course was before I disappeared.
Sounds are indeed like colors, and my hunger for a truer palette of colors grows day to day.
And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.
I didn't see it, but it sounds barbaric. It's become like cock-fighting: poor dumb brutes being set upon each other by conniving television producers.
Metaphysical assertions, however, are statements of the psyche, and are therefore psychological.... Whenever the Westerner hears the word psychological, it always sounds to him like only psychological.
A good sonnet appears to be a confession-in a word either patently artificial,and then it is bad,or good,then it sounds like autobiography.
(By moving) I'm making sounds on the drums of spacetime... Space itself wobbles and rumbles like a drum... Black holes can bang on spacetime like mallets on a drum
Christ's voice sounds now for each of us in loving invitation; and dead in sin and hardness of heart though we be, we can listen and live. Christ Himself, my brother, sows the seed now. Do you take care that it falls not on, but in, your souls.
The never-ceasing boom of the great ocean as it breaks on the beach, drowns all smaller sounds.
Hark, below, the many-voiced earth, The chanting of the old religious trees, Rustle of far-off waters, woven sounds Of small and multitudinous lives awake, Peopling the grasses and the pools with joy, Uttering their meaning to the mystic night!
Oh, call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.
Lawyer even sounds like liar.
You mean he's dead too? asked Suzy. Yes, said Dusk. This morning, in his cell. The guards outside were also slain, and only Sir Thursday's boots remained. Sounds more like he escaped, Suzy said. His feet were still in the boots, said Dusk.
Almost sounds like Bigfoot doesn't it?
The one thing I do not want to be called is First Lady. It sounds like a saddle horse.
Somewhere at the heart of the universe sounds the true mystic note: Me.
It was quite impossible to describe. Here is what it looked like. It looked like a piano sounds shortly after being dropped down a well. It tasted yellow, and it felt Paisley. It smelled like the total eclipse of the moon.