Best 8933 quotes in «song quotes» category

A bird never forgets the first song it sang.

A composer who can lift the spirit of a million people with a song, is a definite force for good.

Add a Melody to Your Lyrical Words, Add a Tune to Life's Situations, Let there be a Song! Beautiful, Romantic, Hip-Hop, Rap; Let there be a Moment one day, When we can Sing - Life, Remembering this is where we did Belong!

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

A future as lonely as the surface of the moon and still just the sight of him feels like a homecoming, like a song I used to know but forgot.

A good song touches the depths of the shyest heart and makes itself harmony resonate as a prayer.

Ahesta boro, Mah-e-man, ahesta boro.

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.

A lark, caught in a hunter’s net Sang sweeter then than ever, As if the falling melody Might wing and net dissever At dusk the hunter took his prey, The lark his freedom never. All birds and men are sure to die But songs may live forever.

A large American automobile came crawling close to us, and we could hear from behind its thick windows the deep bass of the radio, and the nasty words of a hateful song.It seemed like so much of modern music, a din to drive human beings mad.

Algunas cosas no duran para siempre, pero otras sí. Como una buena canción, o un buen libro, o un buen recuerdo que se puede recuperar y contemplar en los malos momentos..

A little light in the dark night A faint voice is calling you This way! This way! This flickering, wavering little voice Like dew, like a bonfire The voice of insects the sound of the water You can never lose them once you've heard them...

All my friends are bums. We all gather round our camp-fire (in a can) and sing songs of togetherness as we cuddle, to preserve our warmth...

All the little duckies with their heads in the water Heads in the water All the little duckies with their heads in the water Oh, such sweet little duckies.

All of the people took it up and sung it over and over until it was wrung dry, and no further innovations of tone and tempo were conceivable. Then they hushed and ate barbecue.

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

And Esme remembered in a rush--the wolfsong, the haunting, lyrical spirals of it in the dawn quiet and the feeling of euphoria that had attended it. Even in recollection the howling uplifted her like the crescendo at the end of a symphony and made her heartbeat quicken.

Although it was only a single instrument, each note had the peculiar echoed quality of a thousand harmonics voiced together. There was a whisper behind the strongest note and a shout beneath the softest, and they sang of far off places in long forgotten times. There were no words, but the images of ancient pride, noble heritage, and castles in the sand were imagined from the progression. This was the song that would be played at the birth of a nation, full of hope and promise of better days ahead. This was the song of the end of days with all love and longing lost beyond recall or desire. Farris could see this song playing at her wedding, or her funeral, as a herald of joy and sorrow. She found tears in her eyes and heard herself laugh, and she couldn’t say why she was doing either. Her skin was tense and covered with goosebumps, and she shivered with pleasure.

...a morte estava a provocá-los, cantando-lhes em suspiros e silêncios uma canção de ninar que tinha eco nos corações. Memento mori.

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.

Almighty Freedom! give my venturous song The 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.

And he has a Poet,but you are unlucky to hear that Pensive song.

And I waited for the sun to rise - as it always had, like a song from the night.

And she sang. Perhaps she'd never stop, for it was rather freeing, this blissful, empowered place where she was nothing but rhythm and resonance.

And so the Wolf of the West rose from the stone! And so he will rise again if ever the folk of the Six Duchies call to him in need.

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

And now the measure of my song is done: The work has reached its end; the book is mine, None shall unwrite these words: nor angry Jove, Nor war, nor fire, nor flood, Nor venomous time that eats our lives away. Then let that morning come, as come it will, When this disguise I carry shall be no more, And all the treacherous years of life undone, And yet my name shall rise to heavenly music, The deathless music of the circling stars. As long as Rome is the Eternal City These lines shall echo from the lips of men, As long as poetry speaks truth on earth, That immortality is mine to wear.

And my hopes they are high I must keep them small

And tonight I'm feelin like an astronaut, sending sos from this tiny box,and i lost the signal when i lifted off, now i'm stuck up here and the world forgot, can i please come down? Cuz i'm tired of drifting round and round....can i please come down? Now I lie awake and scream in my zero gravity...and its starting to weigh down on me....lets abort this mission now....CAN I PLEASE COME DOWN? So tonight I'm calling all the astronauts, all the lonely people that the world forgot, if you hear my voice, come pick me up, cuz ur all i've got...

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?

And when all your faith is gone let it be me, if it's a friend you need let it be me

...And yet a knowledge is here that tenses the throat as for song: the inheritance of the ones, alive or once alive, who stand behind the ones I have imagined, who took into their minds the troubles of this place, blights of love and race, but saw a good fate here and willingly paid its cost, kept it the best they could, thought of its good, and mourned the good they lost. (From the ending of Where in Clearing, p179)

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

A poem shouldn't just give melody; it should give meaning.

Anna's voice wasn't a beautiful voice - rough edged and sorrowful, a bit used, somehow male and female at once. Yet it had more vibrancy to it than most Danish voices, which were often thin and white and too pretty to trigger a shiver. Anna's voice had the heat of the south; it warmed Einar, as if her throat were red with coals.

Ascend, may you find so resistance Just know that you made such a difference All you leave behind will live to the end The cycle of suffering goes on But memories of you stay strong Some day I too will fly and find you again

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.

Artistes breathe and dream creativity!

Ashes have no fear to burn in hell In your heart's paradise angels dwell Rib cage fastens all sins of the wrong Your bones will sing you mortality’s song

As he stood up and gathered his attaché case and notebook, I reminded him that it had already been three weeks -- and counting.

A smile is a song from the heart; a tear is a letter from the soul.

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

A song she heard Of cold that gathers Like winter's tongue Among the shadows It rose like blackness In the sky That on volcano's Vomit rise A Stone of ruin From burn to chill Like black moonrise Her voice fell still...

A tapping foot isn’t the best a listener can get from a song: A good song makes a listener dance. A great song makes him think.

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.

A theology that cannot be sung is not worth having.... Authentic Christian faith is not merely believed. Nor is it merely acted upon. It is sung - with utter joy sometimes, in uncontrollable tears sometimes, but it is sung.

... because one day, maybe one day, if I learned how to write clear enough, sing loud enough, be strong enough, I could explain myself in a way that made sense and then maybe one day, one day, someone out there would hear and recognise her or himself and I could let them know that they are not alone. Just like that song I had on repeat for several nights as I walked lonely on empty streets, let me know that I was not alone and that’s how it starts.

Ava sang to remind them of what was important – the things that mattered in their lives. She sang about the love of hearth and home; the fire at night in the fireplace; dinner warm on the table; a caring wife and hard-working husband who relied on each other for everything; of babies still in their cradles; toddlers climbing on knees wanting to be cuddled; of teenage boys and girls helping their parents run the homestead. She sang of warm summers and cozy winters with lots of heavy blankets; of harmony and love; well-being and gratitude for the harvest - for the bounty by which they all lived. She sang of the joy of a new life; the births of their children; the enduring love in the twilight of old age between a man and his wife - the years behind them like the building blocks of an enormous castle.

Be a song in someone's heart.

Beautiful songs and voice echo in my heart.