“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] The rhythmic, almost harsh sounds of the insects were strongly reminiscent of the long camping seasons my father had treated his family to many years ago. [...] My father had taken my brother and me into the woods one night, at first tracking one of the insects by its sound, until finally he’d been able to illuminate with his flashlight the katydid as it perched on a branch at just the right height for us.]

[...] And that growing cacophony, perhaps my favorite sound in all of nature, reminded me that I’d closed out Mass Events by writing about geese. [...]

Enjoying the sounds of life in the mysterious nighttime, I intuitively understood that not only did I want to mention in this Preface the feelings Jane and I have about Three Mile Island as a technological and scientific entity, embodying man’s attempts to extract new forms of energy [and yes, consciousness, in our joint opinion] from the far more basic and profound quality Seth calls All That Is; I also knew that I wanted to indicate how the very idea of nuclear energy, as an attribute of a national focus, compared with the situation in the Middle Eastern country of Iran. [...]

Just as though it had been waiting for the right moment last night, a screech owl began to sound its sorrowful descending cry in the black woods on the hill behind our house. [...]

I am aware that some of this sounds “retrogressive,” for I am even suggesting a situation in which politicians or statesmen would learn to “dream wisely” — and become aware of the psyche, the mass psyche, of their people, and tune into the “private oracle.”

Now all of this certainly sounds unscientific to many people, yet most of my readers have already picked up a different version of the nature of science, or they would not be reading this book to begin with. [...]

[...] He knows what human voices sound like even before his ear physically hears those sounds. [...]

[...] I experienced sensation, sight and sound. Most of the sightings and sounds are now hard to recall, frustratingly enough, but they were very vivid at the time, and I did achieve partial duration in memory.

It amuses me, as a last thought, that your word “pit”, in sound, is like a core, and suggesting depth for considering inwardness as the pit. [...]

[...] The TV was on, without sound. [...]

[...] The local fire siren had begun to sound. [...]

[...] I turned off the television’s sound. [...]

This may sound simple, and yet all such considerations serve to weigh you both down, and they color your attitudes far more than you realize.

[...] At the same time, it all sounds familiar, as if we heard about someone doing the same thing last year, say.

(Karina was mostly quiet today, although sounding off at times. [...]

[...] Negative suggestions could be compared to static sounding on an otherwise clear program.

(I couldn’t help noticing as I walked down the hall on my way out, how busy all the patient rooms were, the cacophony of sounds, the numerous visitors, patients and nurses and aides. [...]

[...] At 9:26 she asked me to turn off the TV set: I’d had it on to watch the World Series, without sound, glancing at it once in a while from my place at the card table. [...]

The power of words has to do initially with the sound and symbols. [...]

I find that in black and white my words may sound harsh. [...]

[...] And if I do not sound like a nightingale, it may be said that I speak in tones not quite as bad as a grandfather frog.

[...] Our windows were open and the sound seemed especially bothersome. [...]

[...] Any discussion between you is at two levels, then, where sound of an unpleasant nature is involved.

[...] Sound to him does not have the same meaning, though he may dislike the noise. [...]

[...] (Pause.) The hero, represented in a statue, had once been a cobbler, and came from a place that sounds like Guatemala, though this is not precise. [...]

[...] The best we can say is that this geography sounds possible for those islands.

A place that sounds like Grenada that has a connection with nuts, exports nuts, I believe.

[...] Today I went out in the back where we have the tent for Peter, and I was lying down and thinking and I started to hear this beepbeep-beep kind of sound and looked, and it wasn’t coming from anything around. [...]

[...] I had the fan on, the curtains pulled back and the windows open so we could hear the sounds of traffic below. The sound was rather pleasant, and Jane liked it. [...]

[...] The impact of many of my statements of the past goes unrecognized, or perhaps the words sound pat, but there are other conditions of life that you do not perceive, sometimes because your time sequences are too different. [...]

[...] If I say to you: “Life came from a dream,” such a statement sounds meaningless. [...]

[...] Suddenly, the sound of traffic also bothered me. [...] All of these sounds merged together, intensified, while each retained its own unique quality.

[...] The crinkley sound seemed magnified tremendously and had a new dimension as if it were ripping up space, crinkling the edges of space in the kitchen. [...]

[...] Finally, the sounds quieted. [...]

“It sounds too melodramatic,” I said. [...] And Malba didn’t sound terribly bright; at least Seth is intelligent and knows what he’s talking about. [...]

Deep is the sleep
Of the moss and the pebble.
Long is the trance
Of the grass and the meadow.
Footfalls come and footfalls pass,
But no sounds can break
That green-eyed trance.