Song Quotes - Page 6

If a song's meant to stay around, you carry it with you in your bones.

God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth That they might touch the hearts of men And bring them back to heaven again.

The hand on my hair moved to my back, and I realized someone was singing softly. The voice was familiar, and something about it made my chest ache. Well, that was to be expected. Angels' songs would be awfully poignant. "'I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, when I met you...'" the voice crooned. I frowned. Was that really an appropriate song for the Heavenly Host to be--

Last night the nightingale sat by my window and sang her joyous song of love...Though I loved it, my heart silently missed the beautiful song of your heart beat!

JAMIE'S SONG 'August and November':They say it was a beautiful summer.I say I felt so cold the whole short while.I heard that it rained for days,Between August and November.Well I didn’t see it rain on the enslaved river.I am the river no more (x2)And the rain is just acid water from their cloudy black smoke.And now I’m at a standstill on the streets, That are lit up like a funfair from some forgotten dream.Yet faces, headlights, and the whole world passes by me. Without taking a step, I’m down in the hole too.And if it rains this comingDark and lonely December,I will never watch it fall on the entrapped river.I am the river no more (x2)And the rain is acid water from their cloudy black smoke.

It all goes aroundIt all goes aroundThe planet goes around the sunIt all goes aroundMy mother said it all goes aroundIt all goes aroundThe ship goes around the station

Come thaw my frozen heart, my little arctic kitten.”Unable to resist, Aria jumped in and picked up the next line. “No chance, my yeti man, I’d rather be frostbitten.”“Let me be your snowman. Come live in my igloo.”“I’d rather freeze to death than hibernate with you.

Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light.

Songs are memories... Either u smile or get a tear in your eyes..

I close my eyes and I can see a better day. I close my eyes and pray

Every man needs his Siren To check his courage and strength When he hears her song In his travels through the unknown.

Nothing safe is worth the drive.

THAT crazed girl improvising her music.Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,Her soul in division from itselfClimbing, falling She knew not where,Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declareA beautiful lofty thing, or a thingHeroically lost, heroically found.No matter what disaster occurredShe stood in desperate music wound,Wound, wound, and she made in her triumphWhere the bales and the baskets layNo common intelligible soundBut sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea

Far over the misty mountains coldTo dungeons deep and caverns oldWe must away ere break of dayTo seek the pale enchanted gold.The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,While hammers fell like ringing bellsIn places deep, where dark things sleep,In hollow halls beneath the fells.For ancient king and elvish lordThere many a gleaming golden hoardThey shaped and wrought, and light they caughtTo hide in gems on hilt of sword.On silver necklaces they strungThe flowering stars, on crowns they hungThe dragon-fire, in twisted wireThey meshed the light of moon and sun.Far over the misty mountains coldTo dungeons deep and caverns oldWe must away, ere break of day,To claim our long-forgotten gold.Goblets they carved there for themselvesAnd harps of gold; where no man delvesThere lay they long, and many a songWas sung unheard by men or elves.The pines were roaring on the height,The wind was moaning in the night.The fire was red, it flaming spread;The trees like torches blazed with light.The bells were ringing in the daleAnd men looked up with faces pale;The dragon's ire more fierce than fireLaid low their towers and houses frail.The mountain smoked beneath the moon;The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.They fled their hall to dying fallBeneath his feet, beneath the moon.Far over the misty mountains grimTo dungeons deep and caverns dimWe must away, ere break of day,To win our harps and gold from him!

Split in two,” he sang, “Loved by one, and then another. Pulled in a direction and then the other. If I could breathe you in, all of you, every day of my life, it wouldn’t be enough. My heart was captive long ago — then you stole it away, you helped me grow. Now I’m staring at my crossroads with a choice to make, wondering how in the world I even thought there was one way to take.” His hands flew over the piano, muscles tightened in his forearms as he leaned forward and continued singing. “My biggest fear, is not the ending of this life, but going through it without you by my side.” He repeated the chorus and closed his eyes, humming the haunting melody in such a way that I felt hypnotized. “Letting her go will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do — but I’m doing it so I can say goodbye to her — and good morning to you. Tell me it’s not too late to ask for a second.” He smirked but continued singing. “Third, fourth, tenth date.” His hands slowed. “Loving you will always be easy because when I look into your eyes I know you see the real me, so be my love, be my rain, be my clouds, be my pain.” “My biggest fear, is not the ending of this life, but going through it without you by my side.” He stopped playing. The room fell silent.

I feel like I've been through a lot in the past couple of years, But I've kept pretty stable. That's because I channel that emotion into performance. I can handle emotion as long as it's only a song. It works for me, and I don't want to change it. I don't have anything left for writing.

Life is like music on a scale, shifting up and down. When your life is over, your song has been written.

Kilio kikuu cha Yesu, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabakthani?”, yaani, “Mungu wangu, Mungu wangu, mbona umeniacha?”, na “Imekwisha”, vilitabiriwa katika Zaburi 22 ili watu waliompinga Kristo waamini kama Yesu alikuwa Masihi. Zaburi 22 ulikuwa wimbo maarufu katika kipindi cha karne ya kwanza, kipindi ambacho Yesu alizaliwa na kufa, uliotungwa na mfalme Daudi, ulioitwa ‘zaburi ya mateso na matumaini ya mwadilifu’. Kwa hiyo Yesu aliposema maneno hayo yaliwaingia watu akilini, na kuanzia hapo imani hasa ya Ukristo ikachukua kasi hadi leo hii. Zaburi 22 inaanza na “Mungu wangu, Mungu wangu, mbona umeniacha?” na inaisha na “Imekwisha”, miongoni mwa maneno saba aliyoyasema Yesu pale msalabani Golgotha. Kwa hiyo, Zaburi 22 ni utabiri wa kifo cha Yesu.

It is very normal for one ugly weed to not want to stand alone.

If I’m not around I hope you’ll remember me and together we will hold on to our favorite song.

I just want you to know, I love the way you look at me. Make's me feel like everything's gonna be okay.

Some say an army of horsemensome an army on footothers say ships laden for warare the fairest things on earth.But I say the fairest sighton this dark earthis the face of the one you love.Nor is it hard to understand:love has humbled the heartsof the proudest queens.And I would rather see you now stepping over my thresholdthan any soldier greaved in gold or any iron-beaked ship.

Quiet birds rob the universe of beautiful symphonies.

Well, you only need the light when it's burning low. Only miss the sun when it starts to snow. Only know your lover when you let her go. Only know you've been high when you're feeling low, only hate the road when you're missing home. Only know your lover when you let her go.

Let's swim to the moonLet's climb through the tideSurrender to the waiting worldsThat lap against our side.

In time of rain I come:I can sing among the flowers:I utter my song: my heart is glad.Water of flowers foams over the earth:My heart was intoxicated.

Poetry is the language of the soul;Poetic Prose, the language of my heart.Each line must flow as in a song,and strike a chord that rings forever.To me, words are music!

She was only half Bird now, and the other half song. She liked it that way.

I was always an unusual girl.My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean.

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. She has a knife, knife, knife, stuck in her back, back, back. She cannot breathe, breathe, breathe. She cannot cry, cry, cry. Thats why she begs, begs, begs. She begs to die, die ,die..

A song she heardOf cold that gathersLike winter's tongueAmong the shadowsIt rose like blacknessIn the skyThat on volcano'sVomit riseA Stone of ruinFrom burn to chillLike black moonriseHer voice fell still...

Every time I stare into those eyes of yours, they shine like a mirror with the sharp edges, piercing trough every bit of my reflection. It makes me feel like a child lost in the woods. And all of a sudden I hear a song somewhere and a shiver runs down my spine. A song that I have heard somewhere before. A song that makes all my demons dance forcefully at once.

Oh ... My twitchy witchy girl I think you are so nice, I give you bowls of porridge And I give you bowls of ice-cream.

I fell for her in summer, my lovely summer girl,From summer she is made, my lovely summer girl,I’d love to spend a winter with my lovely summer girl,But I’m never warm enough for my lovely summer girl,It’s summer when she smiles, I’m laughing like a child,It’s the summer of our lives; we’ll contain it for a whileShe holds the heat, the breeze of summer in the circle of her handI’d be happy with this summer if it’s all we ever had.

In one creative thought a thousand forgotten nights of love come to life again and fill it with majesty and exaltation. And those who come together in the nights and are entwined in rocking delight perform a solemn task and gather sweetness, depth, and strength for the song of some future poet, who will appear in order to say ecstasies that are unsayable.

A poet can imagine an iceberg singing a melancholic song while the world leaders find it difficult to imagine proper solution to global warming.

I earned my place,With the tidal waves.I can't escape this feeling,That something ain't right.I called my nameAs I crashed the gates,Still I can't escape this feelingThat something ain't right.

Life is like music on a scale, moving up and down. When your life is over, you have written your song.

May the light be in you forever,May the sun love you and keep you,May the dream make you awaken.For the stars love to shine upon you, And the heavens cry for your loss.May goodness and love flow through you once more,Drink of the light and the love here,Find that we all need you,May your spirit come back across.

A good river is nature's life work in song.

Artistes breathe and dream creativity!

JAMIE'S SONG 'UN-BROKE':Un-broke and,All is well.I did not expect that.Unspoken,All I felt.I should not have done that.But now that is all behind me.Something else, something more defines me.I could be scattered all over the world again,And I would still be me.Find my way back here again.Though I don’t think that could happen, I feel so unbreakable,Now that I am un-broke.Like the wind,I floated. I could not change one thing.Like the trees,I stood there.Branches swayed bare in Spring.My darkest days are behind me.Blinding sun and stars always find me.I could be shattered into the abyss again,But I would still be free.Climb out of the hole again.I’ll see the skies that never darken. I know I’m unbreakable, Now that I am un-broke.

Are you, are you Coming to the tree They strung up a man They say who murdered three. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met at midnight In the hanging tree.Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where the dead man called out For his love to flee. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met at midnight In the hanging tree.Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where I told you to run, So we'd both be free. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met at midnight In the hanging tree.Are you, are you Coming to the tree Wear a necklace of rope, Side by side with me. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met at midnight In the hanging tree.

Birds are sensitive to mispronunciation, even more sensitive than the French.

You own me with whispers like poetry.Your mouth is a melody I memorize.

God has prepared for Himself one great song of praise throughout eternity, and those who enter the community of God join in this song. It is the song that the “morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy” at the creation of the world. (Job 38:7). It is the victory song of the children of Israel after passing through the Red Sea, the Magnificat of Mary after the annunciation, the song of Paul and Silas in the night of prison, the song of the singers on the sea of glass after their rescue, the “song of Moses the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb” (Rev. 15:3) It is the song of the heavenly fellowship.

All people are musicians" Wit countered. "The question is whether or not they share their songs.

Which one of us, went and fucked up?

For all the way he loved her. Every song had her memory, every rain had her smell, and every girl had her face.

Music replays the past memories, awaken our forgotten worlds and make our minds travel.

Ah! keep my songs within your heart (The heart that holds the singer too), And never to the world impart The music only meant for you. Nor breathe one word, one tender word aloud, Lest it be heard by the cold-hearted crowd. To sing what only you can hear Will keep my heart in perfect tune; As sings the nightingale, when clear Above her shines the summer moon, And every tone of truthful love that flows Is heard alone by the enraptured rose.

For he had never heard anything like it--did not know such music existed in the world--and it was hard to believe that a man he knew could play it with his own two hands. There were parts of it like birdsong, and parts like rolling thunder and hard rain, and parts that glittered like fresh snow when the sun comes out and it’s so cold the air takes your breath away. And parts were like a dust devil spinning past, or a cyclone on the horizon, and all of it cried out for words that he had only read in books and had never said aloud.

Sir, don’t make a bigger fool out of yourself because I promise you, if my car is not here when I leave service today . . . just pray for rapture.

Each song is a child I nourish and give my love to. But even if you have never written a song, your life is a song. How can it not be?

Every single day I'll keep you with me, no matter how far from me you are.

We need music the most when we’re feeling things really intensely. I think the most intense times in your life are when you’re either falling in love or losing it

When we hear the bird sing, it hears only how to love. (Quand on entend l'oiseau chanter, - Lui n'entend que comment aimer.)

Tell me all of the things that make you feel at ease

We didn’t have words. We didn’t have writing or maps or language, but we had music and in that music, we spoke victory and loss, sadness and rage. We sang fire and water, earth and sky. We wrote the history of the Battle of Lamos and told the story of Selisanae of the Sun and wove the tragedy of the lives and deaths of dragons in every land. It was marvellous.

And what if there are no damsels in distress?What if I knew that, and I called your bluff?Don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down,whether or not you ever show up?