People who share the same language, French or Chinese or whatever, have the same vocal cords and emit sounds which are basically the same, as they come from the same throats and lungs.
And singing is a physical thing - your vocal cords are these muscles.
Crying is really bad for your vocal cords.
If you actually relax your vocal cords they actually work better.
Seventy per cent humidity is ideal for vocal cords.
Cut the umbilical cord to yesterday. Although we can't change history, we change the effect the past has on the future.
But cord blood also holds the great potential of producing pleural potential cells that could cure many other diseases such as juvenile diabetes, a disease that I live with every day.
At the umbilical region we actually network with people. Picture that you are cutting those cords to everyone you know. It doesn't mean you don't love them; you are just cutting down on the negative energy pickup from people.
You cannot sleep with the enemy and be successful...Every cord that binds you to failure, every cord that binds you to fear, you gotta cut it!
In the theater, characters have to cut the umbilical cord from the writer and talk in their own voices
If you have a sense that anyone is draining your energy, mentally cut the etheric psychic cord between you and the other person. Be willing to forgive that other person for seemingly draining you, and release the other person fully to the light, now. Completely let go of focusing on personalities of other people and ourselves, and focus, instead, on the true oneness of your spirit.
After victory, tighten the cords of your helmet.
The last step in parental love involves the release of the beloved; the willing cutting of the cord that would otherwise keep the child in a state of emotional dependence.
In fighting nature, man can win every battle except the last. If he should win that too, he will perish, like an embryo cutting its own umbilical cord.
The passion for revenge should never blind you to the pragmatics of the situation. There are some people who are so blighted by their past, so warped by experience and the pull of that silken cord, that they never free themselves of the shadows that live in the time machine... And if there is a kind thought due them, it may be found contained in the words of the late Gerald Kersh, who wrote:"... there are men whom one hates until a certain moment when one sees, through a chink in their armour, the writhing of something nailed down and in torment.
Human passions unbridled by morality and religion...would break the stronges cords of our Constitution as a whale goes through a net.
A giraffe has a black tongue twenty-seven inches long and no vocal cords. A giraffe has nothing to say. He just goes on giraffing.
As Unto the bow the the cord is , So unto the man is woman; Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him , yet she follows: Useless each without the other.
Because God gave you your makeup and superintended every moment of your past, including all the hardship, pain, and struggles, He wants to use your words in a unique manner. No one else can speak through your vocal cords, and, equally important, no one else has your story.
One time, my mom told us, 'No TV.' It was 3 P.M., and I was sneaking it in. She put her hand on the back of the TV to see if it was warm, and it was. So she pulled the cord out of the wall, opened the second-floor window, and just threw it out the window.
My obstetrician was so dumb that when I gave birth he forgot to cut the cord. For a year that kid followed me everywhere. It was like having a dog on a leash.
What makes spinal-cord injuries as devastating as they are is that everything about them plays out in absolutes: they are instantaneous, utterly disabling and horribly permanent.
My guitars are my umbilical cord. They're directly wired into my head.
He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would suffice.
You got a job?" "Ignatius hasta help me at home," Mrs. Reilly said. Her initial courage was failing a little, and she began to twist the lute string with the cord on the cake boxes. "I got terrible arthuritis." "I dust a bit," Ignatius told the policeman. "In addition, I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.
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