A Quote by Catherine the Great

I like to praise and reward in a loud voice and to scold in a whisper. — © Catherine the Great
I like to praise and reward in a loud voice and to scold in a whisper.
A loud voice cannot compete with a clear voice, even if it's a whisper.
The voice of the Spirit is described in the scriptures as being neither loud nor harsh, not a voice of thunder, neither a voice of great tumultuous noise, but rather as still and small, of perfect mildness, as if it had been a whisper, and it can pierce even the very soul and cause the heart to burn. The Spirit does not get our attention by shouting.
On a movie, it's always better to stay invisible as much as you can to keep things calm. I like to whisper to my cameraman, I like to whisper to my actors, and whoever else I've gotten to whisper to.
What has praise and fame to do with poetry? Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice? So that all this chatter and praise, and blame and meeting people who admired one and meeting people who did not admire one was as ill suited as could be to the thing itself- a voice answering a voice.
I had a real stage school voice and I could do loud things, but it's not about being loud, it's about sensitivity and subtlety in music. You can do so much more with a quiet voice than with a belter.
Praise and reward create a system of extrinsic motivations for behavior. Children (and adults) end up taking action in order to receive the praise or rewards.
I like to praise and reward loudly, to blame quietly.
I feel like the timbre of your voice as a woman doesn't cut through as well as a loud bassy voice, so you need to noticeably speak up.
But what I would like to say is that the spiritual life is a life in which you gradually learn to listen to a voice that says something else, that says, "You are the beloved and on you my favour rests."... I want you to hear that voice. It is not a very loud voice because it is an intimate voice. It comes from a very deep place. It is soft and gentle. I want you to gradually hear that voice. We both have to hear that voice and to claim for ourselves that that voice speaks the truth, our truth. It tells us who we are.
The painter who is content with the praise of the world for what does not satisfy himself, is not an artist, but an artisan; for though his reward be only praise, his pay is that of a mechanic.
The wife correct " Lorelei prompted. "She makes sure her husband is treated with the proper regard and she is the one who sees after his care just like you would do a treasured pup." Annabeth frowned. "I suppose that's true." "Thank you " Lorelei said. "Now if you wish to train a man to listen to you you never shout you whisper. They take extra special care to listen to a quiet tone while they automatically shut out loud ones. And just like you would a dog when he comes at your bidding you reward him. That way he'll always come instead of ignoring you or putting you off.
Shout praise and whisper criticism.
It is the secret life that sustains me now, and as I reach the top of that bridge I say it in a whisper, I say it as a prayer, as regret, and as praise. I can't tell you why I do it or what it means, but each night when I drive toward my southern home and my southern life, I whisper these words: 'Lowenstein, Lowenstein.
I have faith that God will show you the answer. But you have to understand that sometimes it takes a while to be able to recognize what God wants you to do. That's how it often is. God's voice is usually nothing more than a whisper, and you have to listen very carefully to hear it. But other times, in those rarest of moments, the answer is obvious and rings as loud as a church bell.
Doth not all nature around me praise God? If I were silent, I should be an exception to the universe. Doth not the thunder praise Him as it rolls like drums in the march of the God of armies? Do not the mountains praise Him when the woods upon their summits wave in adoration? Doth not the lightning write His name in letters of fire? Hath not the whole earth a voice? And shall I, can I, silent be?
I write first drafts with only the good angel on my shoulder, the voice that approves of everything I write. This voice does'nt ask questions like, Is this good? Is this a poem? Are you a poet? I keep this voice at a distance, letting only the good angel whisper to me: Trust yourself. You can't worry a poem into existence.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!