Language, in all its glorification, is often criticized for its limitations.  We live in a world of language, where no word means the exact same thing to one person as it does to the next.  No matter how well we think we get our point across, we never really do.  Another's brain will handle the sound bytes you have offered and sort them in a different fashion than your own.  Let's not look at this as a matter to be disappointed about, but to savor.  Because your words are yours and will only ever be yours, that makes them infinite.  You can write your deepest thoughts on a billboard and they will always be in your sole possession.  Others will take in the language, but their "computers" will alter it.  They only have finite access to your infinite thoughts, even if they think otherwise.  The great masters of literature are so wonderful because they never lose what is infinite in them, yet are still able to offer the reader a chance to access it.  Once the reader formulates what they have read into their own thoughts and actions, not just looking at the words but living them, they have accessed the infinite while leaving what is infinite to the author untrammeled.