Best 1227 quotes in «singing quotes» category

THE FOUR HEAVENLY FOUNTAINS Laugh, I tell you And you will turn back The hands of time. Smile, I tell you And you will reflect The face of the divine. Sing, I tell you And all the angels will sing with you! Cry, I tell you And the reflections found in your pool of tears - Will remind you of the lessons of today and yesterday To guide you through the fears of tomorrow.

The human voice was the first instrument and remains the most powerful and effective method of musical creation and emotional transference.

The incarnation took all that properly belongs to our humanity and delivered it back to us, redeemed. All of our inclinations and appetites and capacities and yearnings are purified and gathered up and glorified by Christ. He did not come to thin out human life; He came to set it free. All the dancing and feasting and processing and singing and building and sculpting and baking and merrymaking that belong to us, and that were stolen away into the service of false gods, are returned to us in the gospel.

The last thing I remembered was joining the crew in a rendition of “Take to the Sky,” but the rest of the time blurred after I drank absinthe with the Captain.

The man just opened his mouth, which meant that all kinds of secret doors in his body gave way. He did not sing so much as let his soul free. - "Green Shadows, White Whale

The only bird that sings is the bird that is singing now.

The music had ceased. Alex walked over to the gramophone, wound it up again, and put on more blues, a woman singing this time, gay and sad at once, like a stranded angel who had traded holiness for humanity but remembered what it used to be like to know God.

The night seemed suddenly defiled by the absence of music, as if the silence itself was injecting a sickness that only another song could cure.

Then all the winds of Heaven ran to join hands and bend a shoulder, to bring down to me the sound of a noble hymn that was heavy with the perfume of Time That Has Gone. The glittering multitudes were singing most mightily, and my heart was in blood to hear a Voice that I knew. The Men of the Valley were marching again. My Fathers were singing up there. Loud, triumphant, the anthem rose, and I knew, in some deep place within, that in the royal music was a prayer to lift up my spirit, to be of good cheer, to keep the faith, that Death was only an end to the things that are made of clay, and to fight, without heed of wounds, all that brings death to the Spirit, with Glory to the Eternal Father, forever, Amen.

There is a significant difference between skillful singing and artistic vocal interpretation. Although skillful singing brings joy to many listeners, only a remarkable vocal interpretation may cause people to be overcome with emotion.

There are times in life to play it safe. I'm sure you can think of several. Music is not one of them.

The singing I like best is when I sing.

The singer's voice is thin and fake, but it's pretty, and somewhere in the fakery is the true sadness of smallness and failure and believing in beautiful things that aren't real because that's the only way to get through.

Tucker: "Today we ran into a mama grizzly with two cubs at the ridge off Colter Bay and Clara sang to it to make it go away." Mrs. Avery: You sang to it? Tucker: Her singing is that bad.

The words were incredibly sad, and, for an atheist like myself, entirely without hope or comfort, but still; it was our duty to sing them to the best of our ability, and to sing proudly, in honor of Sammy.

They staggered and stumbled, wounded but triumphant, singing the old Welsh folk song “Ar Lan y Môr.” And if there was something odd about returning from battle singing about lilies, rosemary, rocks, and—for some reason he’d never fathomed—eggs, of all things, by the sea, well, then the three of them made it sound pretty good and only he and Beauclaire knew Welsh.

To be happy to be sad and sad to be happy is to sing an echo in that beautiful language called Sorrow.

Turn your loneliness into singing and praying, and you shall realize that you are never alone at all

The song in my heart makes me glad.

The wine must have done its job, because I am relaxed and finally at ease. Yes, it’s definitely the wine. Otherwise I wouldn't have started singing out of the blue in a million years.

This is a day of celebration! Today, we are divorcing the past and marrying the present. Dance, and you will find God in every room. Today, we are divorcing resentment and marrying forgiveness. Sing, and God will find you in every tune. Today, we are divorcing indifference and marrying love. Drink, and play that tambourine against your thighs. We have so much celebrating to do!

To address another human was one thing, but a singing voice was capable of so much more. Romance made you weak and love was about suffering. I wanted what the jazz musicians were looking for: the supreme. I wanted my voice to take life by the throat and rattle it until it made sense.

We don't just sing; we are the song.

We heard that song three times now, i still don’t understand what they are really singing about though, probably something about being unimaginative.

We sing when we have too much time to just speak.

Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse," said the Hatter, "when the Queen bawled out 'He's murdering the time! Off with his head!'" "How dreadfully savage!" exclaimed Alice. "and ever since that," the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, "he wo'n't do a thing I ask! It's always six o'clock now.

We love music deeply, but why? Put simply: music makes lives, shapes lives, expresses all shades and stages of life - and even saves lives.

We sing because we can't speak anymore. Dance is an extension of that - we dance because we can't speak anymore.

We sing because we can't speak anymore.

What is life? Life is living in this moment, experiencing and experimenting but experience isn’t life. Life is reflecting and meditating but reflection isn’t life. Life is helping and guiding but philanthropy isn’t life. Life is eating and drinking but food isn’t life. Life is reading and dancing but art isn’t life. Life is kissing and pleasuring but sex isn’t life. Life is winning and losing but competition isn’t life. Life is loving and caring but love isn’t life. Life is birthing and nurturing but children aren’t life. Life is letting go and surrendering but death isn’t life. Life is all these things but all these things aren’t life. Life is always more.

When a group of people sing together, we make up a chorus. When birds do, it's more like a whole symphony orchestra.

When I discovered music — when I discovered the craft of shaping a song — my being fell into place.

When I woke up and the dark wasn't gone yet, and the dark seemed so big, then she sang soft and made the dark small again." That is the best of all things we can do for one another: Make the dark small.

When I was a child, Mama had the best voice of all the members of the church. She had loved to sing. Her words had soared like an angel's over the swells of the organ. In fact, I now suspected, her entire theology had been taken from the hymnal.

When I watch Björk sing, It's right here, that spot at the top of the forehead. Neil Young is the same. He sings to this spot in his head. And what he's singing, he's already heard. He's hearing it come out. And the same with Björk. When she's singing, she's singing what she's hearing so there's no force. It's a force in itself. What I realised watching Michael Stipe, was that this is someone whose voice is in command of them rather than the other way around. It's very natural but it takes a long time for that to become natural. Like any singer, it takes a long time to find that, and it keeps changing. How I sing now feels different to a few years ago. It's just where you're at. Singing is nothing but being in the moment. That's it. I remember during OK Computer, I still thought "I need to be slightly drunk" or "I need to do something beforehand so that I'm in the right space, man", but it's all bollocks, because basically you just gotta learn to be there with it when you do it. You're not trying to prove anything. You're not trying to get anywhere. You're not trying to achieve anything. You're not trying to get this emotion across. You're not in this space trying to get this space across. You're not trying to get this mindset across or anything. You're just letting it happen.

When I write, my soul sings.

When the cricket's song is the only sound you hear, how peaceful the whole earth seems.

Why are you sad, when you can sing a song?

Within the deep, the Song sang to her a tale of wonders.

Yesterday it was sun outside. The sky was blue and people were lying under blooming cherry trees in the park. It was Friday, so records were released, that people have been working on for years. Friends around me find success and level up, do fancy photo shoots and get featured on big, white, movie screens. There were parties and lovers, hand in hand, laughing perfectly loud, but I walked numbly through the park, round and round, 40 times for 4 hours just wanting to make it through the day. There's a weight that inhabits my chest some times. Like a lock in my throat, making it hard to breathe. A little less air got through and the sky was so blue I couldn’t look at it because it made me sad, swelling tears in my eyes and they dripped quietly on the floor as I got on with my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticked off the to-do list, did my chores. Packed orders, wrote emails, paid bills and rewrote stories, but the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest. Tears falling on the desk tick tick tick me not making a sound and some days I just don't know what to do. Where to go or who to see and I try to be gentle, soft and kind, but anxiety eats you up and I just want to be fine. This is not beautiful. This is not useful. You can not do anything with it and it tries to control you, throw you off your balance and lovely ways but you can not let it. I cleaned up. Took myself for a walk. Tried to keep my eyes on the sky. Stayed away from the alcohol, stayed away from the destructive tools we learn to use. the smoking and the starving, the running, the madness, thinking it will help but it only feeds the fire and I don't want to hurt myself anymore. I made it through and today I woke up, lighter and proud because I'm still here. There are flowers growing outside my window. The coffee is warm, the air is pure. In a few hours I'll be on a train on my way to sing for people who invited me to come, to sing, for them. My own songs, that I created. Me—little me. From nowhere at all. And I have people around that I like and can laugh with, and it's spring again. It will always be spring again. And there will always be a new day.

You don't need a reason to sing.

You might say “no, you will never do that, that’s not you, not who I know, not who I thought you were”, and I will say "watch me".

A cantor, when he starts singing, it's like rain - once it starts, it's hard to stop.

Acting and singing on 'One Tree Hill' was definitely one of the most incredible experiences of my life. I didn't even know I could act until I auditioned at the casting call for the part of Mia.

Acting seems much easier than singing, in fact, because you are putting on a costume - whereas here you are taking everything off.

We come into this world crying and calling, wailing and singing; and for the first months of our life all our needs and instincts, our dissatisfactions and discoveries are immediately vocalized without apology and without censor.

Without a song, life is a sad tune

Worship God with deep reverence.

You can't create great vocal harmony without interpersonal harmony.

You must be more alive than life. You must see darkness dance and hear silence sing. You must be more awake than light for we aren’t born sleeping and we shouldn’t live sleeping. Only then will death’s slumber become sweet.