Best 1227 quotes in «singing quotes» category

When you go to karaoke with a professional singer and they really start singing, there's no bigger buzzkill than that.

When you hear Doc Watson singing Amazing Grace, something else enters the room.

When you hear tracks everybody immediately thinks that nobody is really playing or singing. That's not the case at all.

When you're all singing together, it brings things together. I know the songs that my grandfather and my father sang.

When you're doing the traditional musicals, singing songs that are 40 and 50 years old, you realize there's a reason why those musicals are hits. These are amazing songs!

When you're dressed up as David Bowie, with your eyebrows completely bleached, and you're doing this kind of strange dance with Paul McCartney while singing "Rebel Rebel" in the middle of the Met ball, and Madonna's looking at you . . . I was just thinking, It's become a bit weird.

When you're just singing a beautiful melody with a story that's true to the heart, you don't need a lot of embellishment.

When you're singing, it can be looked at as a monologue, in a way. If it's about telling a story and connecting with your audience, you can do that through song, through dialogue, or through a monologue. That's what's special about being an entertainer.

When you're singing we all phrase each other in the most remarkable ways. I might hit some sort of thing I've never done before - some vocal pattern. Bonzo will pick it up - he'll phrase with me instantly and then Pagey may join in or start some other phrase - it's like a quadrant.

When you're onstage and the audience is smiling and singing and bopping along and you're all on the same level, it's the best feeling in the world. It may sound dumb and corny to say it, but it's like pure love.

When your target is too far away from you, continue walking singing the song you like.

When you sing opera you are very far from the people, you are onstage, and between you and the people there is the orchestra. So you have to launch your emotions very, very far. When you sing pop, you are singing very close - the microphone is very close to your mouth. You can whisper your emotions into the microphone.

Where is Arland?" "Rapunzel decided to walk around in the woods to get 'the feel of the battleground.' He won't leave the grounds and he promises to defend the inn with 'all the strength in his body.' I told him if he gets in trouble, he should try singing prettily so his woodland friends will come to the rescue. I don't think he got it.

While I'm singing complete gibberish to my son when he's in his crib, I'll occasionally think, 'This song I'm making up is actually pretty good.'

Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.

With music, I'm comfortable singing to people but I'm not that comfortable playing the guitar.

Why do Christians sing when they are together? The reason is, quite simply, because in singing together it is possible for them to speak and pray the same Word at the same time; in other words, because here they can unite in the Word.

Why that would be like challenging Bing Crosby to a singing contest,wouldn't it

Why art thou but a nest of gloom While the bobolinks are singing?

Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.

You always will be singing a song or humming a line or a melody.

Writing is a performance, like singing an aria or dancing a jig

Wolves together stand howling soft and loud at light, singing family songs.

You are walking in a desert.You hear a bird singing.As absurd as it may seem for a bird to be pending in the desert,you are obligated to make it a tree.That's poem

You can't teach it [jazz singing]. There's nobody who can teach you how to sing jazz. Either you know how to sing jazz, or you don't.

You can sometimes get your own feelings across more strongly if you pretend that you're singing it from someone else's angle. But it's always from me. It's just a new way of framing it.

You can't criticize Bob Dylan's singing. You have to respect Billy Joel as a brilliant poet. You can't tell me there's a better rock band ever than Led Zeppelin. And if you speak during the Eagles' "Last Resort," we're done. I'm just asking for seven minutes. This stuff really matters, you know.

You could say singing is in our genes. Both our parents sang and made up songs constantly.

You cannot play the piano well unless you are singing within you.

You can't sing with a closed heart. You just can't do it. And if you try, as soon as you start singing, your heart just naturally opens more and more.

You know, your speaking voice comes back, but your singing voice you use in a different way.

You have Kurt [Cobain], and he's singing about your experiences. They're our collective experiences.

You have to respect your audience. Without them, you're essentially standing alone, singing to yourself.

You must learn to hush the demons that whisper, 'No one wants to read this. This has already been said. Your voice doesn't matter.' In the rare moments when the voices finally hush, you might hear the angels singing.

You might be a redneck if you're moved to tears every time you hear Dolly Parton singing I Will Always Love You.

You put a song on the record or on tape and you stop singing it. You just don't sit around and sing it anymore unless you're performing. That's kind of sad.

Young kids are always singing and painting. When you get to that second and third grade level, you're supposed to put all that aside.

You sang in church, you know, and you didn't act at all. You tried not to act, you tried to tell the truth. The idea of being a troubadour on the road singing for your supper was very disturbing to him.

You're gonna have to learn to get out there in front of those cameras and hold your head up. Take charge when you're singing.

You're not going to hear me singing songs about Wall Street because I don't know anything about that.

You should never be embarrassed by your trouble with living, because it's the ones with the sorest throats who have done the most singing.

A faint singing seemed to issue from the walls... yes, it was as though the walls themselves were singing!... The song became plainer... the words were now distinguishable... he heard a voice, a very beautiful, very soft, very captivating voice... but, for all its softness, it remained a male voice... The voice came nearer and nearer... it came through the wall... it approached... and now the voice was in the room, in front of Christine. Christine rose and addressed the voice, as though speaking to some one: "Here I am, Erik," she said. "I am ready. But you are late." Raoul, peeping from behind the curtain, could not believe his eyes, which showed him nothing. Christine's face lit up. A smile of happiness appeared upon her bloodless lips, a smile like that of sick people when they receive the first hope of recovery. The voice without a body went on singing; and certainly Raoul had never in his life heard anything more absolutely and heroically sweet, more gloriously insidious, more delicate, more powerful, in short, irresistibly triumphant. He listened to it in a fever and he now began to understand how Christine Daaé was able to appear one evening, before the stupefied audience, with accents of a beauty hitherto unknown, of a superhuman exaltation, while doubtless still under the influence of the mysterious and invisible master. The voice was singing the Wedding-night Song from Romeo and Juliet. Raoul saw Christine stretch out her arms to the voice as she had done, in Perros church-yard, to the invisible violin playing The Resurrection of Lazarus and nothing could describe the passion with which the voice sang: "Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!" The strains went through Raoul's heart.

You sounded like someone who should be singing on a cruise ship. Halfway through your song, I wished the ship was sinking.

Alice's voice rang out confidently from the back of the room. "Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright..." Her rendition was flawless: clear, true notes strung together in a necklace of sound, a gift for everyone in the room to wear.

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.

After a while Luce curled up with her head leaning on a rock, wondering why she wasn't consumed with despair. Instead she felt an inexplicable sense of peace. She was cradled in music. The rocks around her chanted like slow, growling bells, and each curl of the water stroked her fins with silky notes. She'd been so afraid of leaving her tribe, but she understood that she never would have heard the music resonating out of every crook of the world if she hadn't taken so many risks. She'd opened her heart to the music of solitude, and it had come to her.

Alexia was not a particularly musical person, and her husband, a noted opera singer in his human days, had once described her bath time warbling as those of a deranged badger.

Alone onstage, I lifted my head up to the light and released my voice, not knowing what would come out. And what flowed out was a voice I'd never heard before: not the tilted croak of nervousness, nor the menagerie of beauty formed in Mr. Matthewman's music room. This was something altogether different: passionately raw, wrenchingly incandescent. As I sang, I traveled to places I never wanted to go. Where a heart broke with the grief of unrequited love. Where hollowed-out eyes turned upwards to empty skies above. To the widest, most open expanse of a land of utter emptiness and loneliness. My voice rose up to the upper banners and spread from row to row, passing from person to person like a pale chiffon ribbon billowing across every cheek. A subtle caress.

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...

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.