Audiobook, character voices, comedy, children's stories, engaging
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EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Guess how much I love you. Written by sam muk Brackney. Little nut brown hair who was going to bed, held on tight to big nut brown hairs. Very long ears. He wanted to be sure that big nut brown hair was listening. Guess how much I love you? He said, oh, I don't think I could guess that said big nut brown hair this much. Said little nut brown hair stretching out his arms as wide as they could go. Big nut brown hair had even longer arms. But I love you this much, he said, hm that's a lot thought little nut brown hair. I love you as high as I can reach, said little nut brown hair. I love you as high as I can reach. Said big nut brown hair, that is quite high, thought little nut brown hair. I wish I had arms like that. An excerpt from book lovers by Emily Henry. Well, if it isn't young charlie. Lastra, an old woman with a pile of silvery gray hair on top of her head and address whose neckline top search in comes towards us and you've brought a date. How lovely her hazel eyes twinkle as she gives charlie and me both squeezes on the arm. He looks downright adoring by charlie standards. Even Amaya didn't get this smile. How are you? Mrs Struthers? She holds out her hands gesturing to the bustling dining room. Can't complain just the two of you when he nods. She takes us to a white cloth table tucked against the window lined with candles dripping wax down wicker wrapped wine bottles you to enjoy. She taps the table with a wink and then returns to the host stand. The smell of fresh bread is thick and intoxicating and within 30 seconds a bottle of red wine appears at the table. Oh, we didn't order that, I tell the server but he tips his head and mrs Struthers direction and hurries away. I was told there'd be cake essays by sloane Crosley. The pony problem as most new Yorkers have done. I have given serious and generous thought to the state of my apartment. Should I get killed during the day, say someone pushes me into the subway tracks or I get accidentally blown up or a woman with a headset and a baby carriage wheels over my big toe backing me into the scaffolding which shakes loose a lead pipe which lands on my skull. What? Then after the ambulance, the hospital, the funeral, the trays of cheese cubes on foil, toothpicks back in the apartment. I never should have left the bed has gone unmade and the dishes unwashed the day I get shot in a bodega buying cigarettes naturally will in all likelihood be the day before laundry sunday and the day after I decided to clean out my closet, got bored halfway through and opted to watch sitcoms in my prom dress instead. The boy with big big feelings by Brittany Win lee. There once was a boy with feathery hair and a heart that was bursting with feeling his emotions seemed bigger than everyone else's and sometimes they made him go reeling when playing outside on the yellow ist days. A loud truck might rumble on by and wouldn't you know it? That big heart of his would push feelings right out of his eyes at night when the shadows would form on the walls and fear would steal all of his rest. Those feelings of his made it so hard to breathe as they jumped up and down on his chest. Sometimes when his play had to come to an end or when things didn't go as he'd planned, the feelings would run down the length of his arms. He and clench when they got to his hands The 2nd Mountain. Written by David Brooks. What commitments give us though, commitments are made in a spirit of giving. They produce many benefits. Let me spell out a few. Our commitments. Give us our identity there. How we introduce ourselves to strangers. They are the subjects that make our eyes shine in conversation. They're what give our lives constancy and coherence, as Hannah aren't put it without being bound to the fulfillment of promises. We would never be able to achieve the amount of identity and continuity which together produce a person about whom a story can be told. Each of us would be condemned to wander helplessly and without direction in the darkness of his own lonely heart, caught in its ever changing moods, contradictions and equivocal it ease. Identity is not formed alone. Identity is always formed by joining a diadem with something else. Empire of storms by Sarah J. Moss. Tears stung a leads eyes as they slipped free, but then the grass crunched behind them. She saw the white hair first. Then the golden eyes. Andy leads sobbed as the non black beak emerged, smiling faintly as men in black beaks saw her and Aylin knee to knee in the grass, and mouthed one word, hope not dead. None of them were dead, etienne said hoarsely. Is your arm? Aylin grabbed it gently, inspecting the shallow cut the new pink skin that revealed what had been missing mere moments before. Alan twisted on her knees, snarling at the wolf warrior. The golden haired male averted his eyes as the queen glared her displeasure. It wasn't his fault, rallied, managed to say. The bite, Allen said dryly, turquoise eyes, livid, would suggest otherwise.