Song Quotes - Page 2

At that moment a solitary violin struck up. But the music was not dance music; it was more like a song - a solemn, sweet song. (I know now that it was Beethoven's Romance in F.) I listened, and suddenly it was as if the fog that surrounded me had been penetrated, as if I were being spoken to.

Sing a Song before you can't Sing some Song ~

A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm,waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm likeworship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, theirsongs never cease. -John Muir, naturalist, explorer, and writer (1838-1914)

Sing your own song. There are always some earnest listeners.

Some things a heart won't listen to, I'm still holding out for you

Pure and soft, the melody is entrancing. Haunting. I’m glued to my seat, waiting, hoping for the next enthralling sound. I’d close my eyes if I weren’t afraid I’d miss a second of his performance.

Let me be kind, let me be compassionate, let me be joyful, and let me sing a song of love.

Every song deserves lyrics. Deserves a story to tell.

We were orphans before we were ever the sons of these songs.

They sang the words in unison, yet somehow created a web of sounds with their voices. It was like hearing a piece of fabric woven with all the colors of a rainbow. I did not know that such beauty could be formed by the human mouth. I had never heard harmony before.

If you're horrible to me, I'm going to write a song about it, and you won't like it. That's how I operate.

Am I the only one who measures time using songs? “Oh it only took me 4 songs to get here! that’s not to long!

People are like songs to me. About 60 seconds in, I'll know whether or not to add them to my 'favorites.

Wedding song (reprise)But you and I, through burning plains, through darkness of the earth, affirm the world, its people, the heavens that gave them birth, the breath that passes between us, this new home where we stand, and all those things made larger by the vows between woman and man.

You see there's no real ending, it's only the beginning, come out and play.

You made me feel less aloneYou made me feel not quite soDeformed, uninformed and hunchbackedAre you aware wherever you areThat you have just died?

I visit you in my dreams and you talk to me in songs. Each sentence is a bridge taking me closer to the city that you are.

Almighty Freedom! give my venturous songThe force, the charm that to thy voice belong;Tis thine to shape my course, to light my way,To nerve my country with the patriot lay,To teach all men where all their interest lies,How rulers may be just and nations wise:Strong in thy strength I bend no suppliant knee,Invoke no miracle, no Muse but thee.

Do you wrestle with dreams? Do you contend with shadows? Do you move in a kind of sleep? Time has slipped away. Your life is stolen. You tarried with trifles, Victim of your folly.

Must I accept the barren Gift?-learn death, and lose my Mastery?Then let them know whose blood and breathwill take the Gift and set them free:whose is the voice and whose the mindto set at naught the well-sung Game-when finned Finality arrivesand calls me by my secret Name.Not old enough to love as yet,but old enough to die, indeed--the death-fear bites my throat and heart,fanged cousin to the Pale One's breed.But past the fear lies life for all-perhaps for me: and, past my dread,past loss of Mastery and life,the Sea shall yet give up Her dead!Lone Power, I accept your Gift!Freely I make death a part of me;By my accept it is boundinto the lives of all the Sea-yet what I do now binds to ita gift I feel of equal worth:I take Death with me, out of Time,and make of it a path, a birth!Let the teeth come! As they tear me,they tear Your ancient hate for aye--so rage, proud Power! Fail again,and see my blood teach Death to die!

In musical performances one can sense that the person on stage is having a good time even if they're singing a song about breaking up or being in a bad way. For an actor this would be anathema, it would destroy the illusion, but with singing one can have it both ways. As a singer, you can be transparent and reveal yourself on stage, in that moment, and at the same time be the person whose story is being told in the song. Not too many kinds of performance allow that.

If beauty is pain — let me get lost in it. If you’re my salvation — I want to earn it. If love is all I have to give — then let me give it. You. It’s all for you.” Gabe’s eyes opened and locked in on mine. “How can I prove that what I feel is real? You ask for truth I give you lies. You ask for joy I make you cry. But I don’t want to lose you. Not like this. Not when I’ve left your heart in such a mess. Give me one chance — I’m letting go of the past — but I need you here to know.” “If beauty is pain — let me get lost in it. If you’re my salvation — I want to earn it. If love is all I have to give — then let me give it. You, it’s all for you.” He paused, hitting the last few notes, and the song ended. Gabe’s smile lit up the room. But I was frozen in place. Me. He’d sung that to me.

They had met at a club fifteen years before, Etta and Magnus. He had convinced her to dance with him, and she said she had been in love by the end of the song. He told her he had been in love before the beginning.

Singers provide all the proof that we have souls.

Displaced Person’s SongIf you see a train this evening,Far away, against the sky,Lie down in your woolen blanket,Sleep and let the train go by.Trains have called us, every midnight,From a thousand miles away,Trains that pass through empty cities,Trains that have no place to stay.No one drives the locomotive,No one tends the staring light,Trains have never needed riders,Trains belong to bitter night.Railway stations stand deserted,Rights-of-way lie clear and cold,What we left them, trains inherit,Trains go on, and we grow old.Let them cry like cheated lovers,Let their cries find only wind,Trains are meant for night and ruin,And we are meant for song and sin.

In the absence of organized religion, faith abounds, in the form of song and art and food and strong arms.

John will never forsake the weak and the helpless, nor fail to bring hope to the hopeless. That is what they believe, and so they do not worry. They go on and laugh and sing. Things are bound to come out right tomorrow. That is the secret of Negro song and laughter.

I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy.I'm tired of driving till I see stars in my eyes.

In my heaven sweet melodies of the skies ripple pool of the sea playing sweet song to me, sharing tales of the past, blending with mine as mirage, painting new...I breathe in, am in love and alive...

What that song? I ast. Sound low down dirty to me. Like what the preacher tells you its sin to hear. Not to mention sing.She hum a little more. Something come to me, she say. Something I made up. Something you help scratch out my head.

If only, if only, the moon speaks no reply;Reflecting the sun and all that's gone by.Be strong my weary wolf, turn around boldly.Fly high, my baby bird,My angel, my only

Everything she sang was true. I will leave it to you as to whether the truth can exist with details omitted, or if those lacks make a lie of it.

If I could be anywhere, where would I be?

Gilded palace of Flying BurritosExcellent Nouveau Mexican CuisineWe all got to wear Swank-Ass Nudie SuitsI should have known it was a lousy pipe dreamOhhh, Ohhh, what an awesome jobOhhh, Ohhh, what do I do now??Ohh, Ohhhhh, it's like I've been robbedSpent the last of my paychequeAnd I'm feelin' pretty downnnnn!!

I say if a novelty Christmas song is funny one time, then it is funny every time. - Calvin

And stay, my dearstay...forever, as my quiet song,in my lilac dawn.

Sometimes it may seem dark, but the absence of the light is a necessary part.

The demon at length fell to singing a gentle, flickering little song. It was not in any language Sophie knew - or she thought not, until she distinctly heard the word "saucepan" in it several times...

You cannot taste a song but you can feel the tune relishing your heart where strings of music belong.

Forget your voice, sing!Forget your feet, dance!Forget your life, live!Forget yourself and be!

The morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy.

If life throws you a few bad notes or vibrations, don't let them interrupt or alter your song.

No revolutionary movement is complete without its poetical expression.

Maybe the key to finding the perfect song is simply rewriting the lyrics.

Some of us hover when we weep for the other who wasdying since the day they were born.

The great Gaels of Ireland are the men that God made mad, For all their wars are merry, and all their songs are sad.

And I'm not saying it's a bad song, you know, or anything like that. All I'm saying is that if you get, I don't know, a broom, say, and dip it in some brake fluid, put the other end up my arse, stick me on a trampoline in a moving lift, and I would write a better song on the walls. That's all I'm saying.

I knew, really knew, I would never die with my song unsung.

Her voice is filled with distant sonorities, like reverberations in a cave: now you are at the place of annihilation, now you are at the place of annihilation. And she is herself a cave full of echoes, she is a system of repetitions, she is a closed circuit.’ Can a bird sing only the song it knows or can it learn a new song?’ She draws her long, sharp fingernail across the bars of the cage in which her pet lark sings, striking a plangent twang like that of the plucked heartstrings of a woman of metal. Her hair falls down like tears.

In the high tide or low tide, I'm gonna be your friend... I'm gonna be your friend!

The guitar poured out its soul, its history, its dreams, its pain, its victories, its secrets. The guitar’s strings purred with blues and ended with a haunting solitary song with no lyrics.

You think I'm psycho, you think I'm goneTell the psychiatrist something is wrongOver the bend, entirely bonkersYou like me best when I'm off my rockerTell you a secret, I'm not alarmedSo what if I'm crazy? The best people are.

A song, a beautiful song sings in my soul and heart.Religious Leader Petra Cecilia Maria HermansThe Religion Of The Blue Circle

The road is long, we carry on, try to have fun in the meantime.

And I or you pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth.

There are three things, and three things only, that can lift the pain of mortality and ease the ravages of life,” said Spider. “These things are wine, women and song"..."Curry’s nice too" pointed out Fat Charlie

From attraction and affectionCover of perfectionFailure beyond texture to a painful lessonEverything that was from the start wasn't from the heart

I'll be your mess, you be mineThat was the deal that we had signed

Above all shadows rides the Sunand Stars for ever dwell:I will not say the Day is done,nor bid the Stars farewell.

Sing before the spirits and dance with the earth deitiesAnd you will be able to compose your own tune.Then you and I, united, will clap hands joyously,Singing 'tum-tiddly-um tum-tiddly-um-tum.