Accent Quotes

“If you are an alien, how come you sound like you're from the north?'

'Lots of planets have a north!”
― Russell T Davies

“Her accent's funny, different from mine, different from anyone in Prentisstown's. Her lips make different kinds of outlines for the letters, like they're swooping down on them from above, pushing them into shape, telling them what to say. In Prentisstown, everyone talks like they're sneaking up on their words, ready to club them from behind.”
― Patrick Ness, The Knife of Never Letting Go

“Something tugged inside him. A flutter of unease.
Do you sing? Those had been her first words to him, the day she had bought him.
A band of nausea circled Arin’s throat, just as it had when she had asked him that question, in part for the same reason.
She’d had no trace of an accent. She had spoken in perfect, natural, mother-taught Herrani.”
― Marie Rutkoski, The Winner's Kiss

“Whatcha do to Ricky Ricardo? Found him talking real fast in Spanish."

"Nothing." She looked at Tony. "He's just moody, and the moodier he gets, the less you can understand him.”
― sidney halston, Below the Belt

“I do not belong anywhere.
I have an accent in every language I speak.”
― Sholeh Wolpé, Keeping Time with Blue Hyacinths: Poems

“What is surprising, even deeply disturbing, is the way that many individuals who consider themselves democratic, even-handed, rational, and free of prejudice, hold on tenaciously to a standard language ideology which attempts to justify restriction of individuality and rejection of the Other”
― Rosina Lippi-Green

“He was from Glasgow. Everything past "good morning" was a blur.”
― Natasha Pulley

“her accent is so thick that I feel bad for the words coming out of her mouth.”
― Caroline Kepnes, You

“Are you from London?” Ruby asked. “Originally.”

“My home town’s much less glamorous. Can’t we pretend I sprang fully formed from the head of Zeus?”

“Your accent puts you somewhere between Hampstead and Philadelphia.”

“That’s the middle of the ocean!”

“Yes. Maybe you’re Venus, rather than Athena.”
― Kate Mascarenhas, The Psychology of Time Travel

“The organs concerned in the production of English speech sounds are the larynx, the velum, the lips, the tongue (that punchinello in the troupe), and, last but not least, the lower jaw; mainly upon its overenergetic and somewhat ruminant motion did Pnin rely when translating in class passages in the Russian grammar or some poem by Pushkin. If his Russian was music, his English was murder.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Pnin

“It's not my accent, but my brevity makes me stylish.”
― Amit Kalantri

“The sound of an English accent distracted her and lifted her spirits. She associated English accents with singing teapots, schools for witchcraft, and the science of deduction.”
― Joe Hill

“It’s like I’m suddenly a hormonally charged teenager or living in a bad romance novel: I suddenly can’t stop myself from noticing every man around me. Which means that Darcy, Samantha, and Michael are probably right. Plus, there was that disturbing dream about Voldemort this morning. I need to lose my gay-husband virginity before I lose my mind entirely. I need to find someone to sleep with me. And the fact that I don’t have the faintest idea how to make that happen is just further proof that it needs to.
—SINGLE-MINDED”
― Lisa Daily, Single-Minded

“Do you have one where you’re riding a horse or a camel? Or sitting on a rocket ship? Those are always wildly popular with men looking for sex.
—SINGLE-MINDED”
― Lisa Daily, Single-Minded

“You can speak with a twang and still not say a thang.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“His accent was delicious. A result of British deliberateness changed by the rhythm of an African tongue and the grace of African lips. I moved away after smiling, needing to sit apart and collect myself. I had not met such a man.”
― Maya Angelou, The Heart of a Woman

“Whenever I'm in the company of strangers and speak in a way that reveals my Slav accent, the question follows: "Where are you from?" I always reply politely. It's very important to me that I say exactly where I'm from, and explain where that place is in case the person I'm talking to has never hears of my country ("in Europe, near Italy"). I suppose that's the need in me to feel accepted for what I am.”
― Semezdin Mehmedinović, My Heart

“i have often wondered what resides in an accent. is it a presence - an identity, a trajectory, a history? or is it rather an absence - an estrangement, a withdrawal, a blank space refusing to be filled? and are we immigrants synonymous to our accents? or are we, or can we ever aspire to be, more than that? this is not to deny that our accents are fundamentally important to who we are, and they are near and dear to our hearts. they are an inextricable trace of the paths we have travelled, the loves we have loved and never forgotten, the scars we still carry and which still hurt. but that doesn't mean we are from our accents.”
― Elif Shafak, How to Stay Sane in an Age of Division

“Those who mouth your sacred words with an accent you deem wrong annoy you more than those speaking something you cannot understand.”
― Thomm Quackenbush, Pagan Standard Times: Essays on the Craft

“Angus was courting me with lines that stabbed deep in lonely, barren places. Like an unfair conqueror, he was delivering his words with an accent that had me dreaming of castles and lochs, and strong thighs under a rough kilt.”
― Cheryl R Cowtan, Girl Desecrated: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders 1984

“Well, that explains the dreamy accent. And why transvestites would make him feel homesick.
—SINGLE-MINDED”
― Lisa Daily, Single-Minded: A Novel

“Although Swedish is one of the few languages on this Earth that I enjoy the sound of. That and Japanese. French is all right, Italian is tolerable depending on who’s speaking it. Everything else makes me cringe. Even English with some accents is bad. Australian? Spare me.”
― Caspar Vega, The Sexorcism of Amber Holloway

“החבורה מתחילה לשיר ביחד ״גאפי בירת׳דיי טו יו״.”
― Nissan Shor, הישראלי הנצחי

“Hey, Tia," he said.
He remembered my name. Now I felt like that ostrich egg, rolling around, oozing goo. He whistled slightly as he spoke, a part of his accent that made him seem like he was whispering something to me and only me.”
― Jessica Tom, Food Whore

“what does it matter if my mouth carries two worlds”
― Rupi Kaur, The Sun and Her Flowers

“Teasdale doesn't have money for an attorney," he said. "Especially one from Boston. Who are you, really?"
Sidney lifted her chin. "An attorney from Boston."
"You don't sound like it."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Like an attorney?"
He scoffed. "No, you have that droning drivel down. You don't sound Boston."
She shrugged. "I didn't start out there."
"You sound like Sawyer," he said with a nod toward wherever Sawyer had headed. She refused to turn around to find out.
"Well, I'm sure there are more than just two of us from---"
"You know him," Crane said, narrowing his eyes.
Sidney's tongue faltered, and she cleared her throat.
"You're from the same place, aren't you?" he asked. "The same little hick town."
"Because we both have an accent?" she asked, laughing, hoping it would cover up her lie.
"Because of how I just saw him look at you," Crane said, studying Sidney with a grin. "Like a lovesick schoolboy. Holy shit, you're her>."
Sidney's breath felt trapped in her chest, unable to move in or out, just held captive there. Sawyer had a her? And she was it? "I---I'm who?"
"The girl he came to town all messed up over," Crane said, crossing his own arms. "A hundred years ago. Well, well, well."
All messed up over.
After punching out his own father.
Defending her.
Damn it if all her carefully constructed and ancient defenses weren't crumbling around her regarding him. The boy who shattered her already shaky confidence. The reason she bitterly swore off love and dove into work, into making herself a hard and formidable beast. A beast without people skills but still. And now...
"We were friends in high school, yes," Sidney managed to push out, her voice sounding decidedly wobbly. "That has no bearing on Mr. Teasdale's case."
"Which came to you how, again?" Crane asked.
Sidney smiled. "I'll ask the questions."
Crane winked, and she so much wanted to slug him. "Nice deflection. What firm are you with?"
"Finley and Blossom."
"Blossom?" he asked. And it wasn't about the name. It was recognition. Shit.
"Yes, sir."
"His damn niece," Crane said, slapping a big hand against the ladder. "I forgot she was a lawyer. Damn it. She sent you."
Oh, seven kinds of hell, now this wall was disintegrating, too. She needed a suit of armor.
"Everything okay?" said a voice from directly behind her. A voice that sent shock waves to all her nether regions, especially coupled with thee hand that rested on the back of her neck. Crap, she needed more than armor. Sidney needed a force field.
"I work for her," Sidney said, ignoring Sawyer's question and fighting the urge to settle back against him.
"And you need to bring back the win," Crane said, chuckling.
God help her if she was ever up against this asshole in court.”
― Sharla Lovelace, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“She affected a faux Continental accent for good measure—it was the fashion voice. Women of a certain age in the industry all had it. Somehow, going to Paris four times a year meant they’d “studied” abroad.”
― Amina Akhtar, #FashionVictim

“A hat is the expression of a woman’s soul. It is something she wears on her head, but it belongs to her heart. It is her challenge to the world. She does not wear it to keep warm, or to provide a shade from the sun, though it may do those things too. She wears it to please a husband or a sweetheart, or to get one. She wears it to make other women jealous, sometimes, and sometimes she wears it to get a job. It is the keynote of her personality, the finishing touch that makes her look beautiful, and smart, and sure of herself, if it is the right hat.”
― Lilly Daché, Talking Through My Hats

“During World War II he remarked that one of the greatest ordeals of the French resistance was hearing him address them in their own tongue over the BBC.”
― William Manchester, The Last Lion : Visions of Glory, 1874-1932