Quotes about songs

I seem to be drawn to the really romantic songs.

When I write I like to give equal justice to lyrics, too. I want the song to have meaning for me so I can make it have meaning for the audience.

I try to make the music give people a chance to become engrossed with what they hear enough to possibly experience things they've probably experienced on their own but don't normally let themselves go so as to feel them fully.

A song should stand on its own and on what a singer does with it. It shouldn't need a lot of extra help to be good.

We are taught to think ourselves ugly. Eyes are an assaulted sense. We are taught to behave by spankings and whippings. Touch is an assaulted sense. We are taught we should not smell, or we smell wrong. Smell is an assaulted sense. We listen to songs that call us 'hos and tell us how to give blow jobs. Hearing is an assaulted sense. Taste, not so much.

A good song should life your heart, warm the soul and make you feel good.

Two people, two hands, and two songs, in this case "Big Shot" and "Bette Davis Eyes." The lyrics of the two songs provided no commentary, honest or ironic, on the proceedings. They were merely there and always underfoot, the insistent gray muck that was pop culture. It stuck to our shoes and we tracked it through our lives.

Musicians add to songs and they evolve: For as was true of human effort, there was never advancement. Everything added meant something lost, and about as often as not the thing lost was preferable to the thing gained, so that over time we'd be lucky if we just broke even. Any thought otherwise was empty pride. p. 380

Sad songs are not my strong suit. All the songs that have saved my life make you feel like driving with the top down or dancing in your room with your best friend.

There are basically three types of songs: loved songs, unloved songs, and transitional songs written by tired people in between the two. Love songs are cheesy, unloved songs are depressing, and transitional songs are poetry. Transitions catch the world on fire, touching on relevant topics while speaking with giddiness and despair of the lover between.

The melody of music!

The songs were all either fast or sad. Because all songs should be either fast or sad.

He laughs and switches lanes. "All right. So, favorite song?""Ever?"He nods. I bite my lip and watch the just-budding trees flash by outside."I don't think I've found it yet."His mouth twists with a smile I've never seen before. And I've seen every smile."That's the right answer.

And when one song stops playing write the one that will save your life.

I sing about life. I am happy, but life is sad.

Good music will make you forget all your misery.

She said, 'People don't know what they like until they hear it. And that is the magic of music. Every song is a possibility, and all it takes is the right chord or the right beat and the heart is hooked.

Music awakes the spirit of the mind.

Music brings relief! Hymns change mood! Songs empower the downhearted. Sing songs always! When all things seem down, sing a good and an inspiring song! When you seem to be wasting your energy on toxic thoughts, invoke your spirit with an amazing song! Songs have power! Empower your life with good songs!

why to get stress or get bore ..When you have flipdark.com to get ultimate entertainment :)

Writing catchy pop songs is a super-minor superpower, but it's mine.

Words make you think. Music makes you feel. A song makes you feel a thought.

And I thought about how many people have loved those songs. And how many people got through a lot of bad times because of those songs. And how many people enjoyed good times with those songs. And how much those songs really mean. I think it would be great to have written one of those songs. I bet if I wrote one of them, I would be very proud. I hope the people who wrote those songs are happy. I hope they feel it's enough. I really do because they've made me happy. And I'm only one person.

He could tell by the way animals walked that they were keeping time to some kind of music. Maybe it was the song in their own hearts that they walked to.

Hair is gray and the firers are burning. So many dreams on the shelf. You say I wanted you to be proud of me. I always wanted that myself.

And mostly all I have to say about these songs is that I love them, and want to sing along to them, and force other people to listen to them, and get cross when these other people don't like them as much as I do.

Ruby said there were many songs that you could not say anybody in particular had made by himself. A song went around from fiddler to fiddler and each one added something and took something away so that in time the song became a different thing from what it had been, barely recognizable in either tune or lyric. But you could not say the song had been improved, for as was true of all human effort, there was never advancement. Everything added meant something lost, and about as often as not the thi

The way I choose to show my feelings is through my songs.

leave me some musicthat’s chocolate for the heart.

We lived only to dance. What was the true characteristic of a queen, I wondered later on; and you could argue that forever. “What do we all have in common in this group?” I once asked a friend seriously, when it occurred to me how slender, how immaterial, how ephemeral the bond was that joined us; and he responded, “We all have lips.” Perhaps that is what we all had in common: no one was allowed to be serious, except about the importance of music, the glory of faces seen in the crowd. We had our

Lets Rock Cancer's World

A bunch of bad songs, make an awful whine.

The nights were mainly made for saying things you can't say tomorrow day.

Some songs are never just ordinary songs, they become the memories you collect in your life.

alone, drinking coffee, listening to the playlist that include the songs that remember you with the best and bad moments of your life.what a hard emotional moment !!

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

Strains of music spring up, crystallizing in the night air like rain turning suddenly to snow, drifting to earth.

Classic of '43. Don't knock it. A Vintage year.

Keith Richards on change—"It's gotta go up and down. Otherwise, you won't know the difference. It would be just a bland, straight line, like lookin' at a heart machine. And when that straight line happens, baby, you're dead.

Some songs can make you to travel a million miles inside your head

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

Perhaps it is how we are made; perhaps words of truth reach us best through the heart, and stories and songs are the language of the heart

The boy Prewitt loved the songs because they gave him something, a first hint that pain might not be pointless if you could only turn it into something.

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 he

The songs of separation Are not always full of painOften they talk of the fondnessThat flows in the lovers’ veins…

No wolf falters before the bite, so strike.No hawk wavers before the dive, so swing.No sun pauses before the set, just strike.No rain delays before the fall, just swing.

In the wake of my broken dreamsIn the dirt and the dust and the days that felt like weeks.I found the person that I’m meant to be‘Cause when I felt like giving upWhen death was closing inI shut my eyesAnd black out the darkness with light from insideI’ve given moreThan what I’ve gotI’ve given allOf what I’m notI’ve watched this war consume all that we could becomeFacing my fears in the darkBut if I dieBefore it’s donePlease take these wordsMy final thoughtsThe only way to shine your light is in

She was at the same table near the back where three nights ago I'd sat entranced by her songs. And where the two of us had talked like old friends.

What good is a song that doesn't break your heart?

Latin is a dead tongue And Romans made songs! Then no one disagree: It delighted them in theory Now it's "the Latin" in me.

The shadow of a character is defined by its maker...while a heroine is personified by its actions and relatability. So writers can create a world with a heroine that has impact and finish with everessence lights at the dims of its shadows

And she learned that you couldn’t stockpile anything that mattered, really. Feelings, people, songs, sex, fireworks: they existed only in time, and when it was over, so were they.

Many use the word “Kingdom” flippantly. Even though we sing about it in our praise songs, we talk about it in our sermons, yet we seem to still not understand its reality in our daily lives

Many use the word “Kingdom” flippantly. Even though we sing about it in our praise songs, we talk about it in our sermons, yet we seem to still not understand its reality in our daily lives.

Great songs don't grow on trees, yet lots of songs have been written on great trees

Music gives strength to the soul.

I’m an idiot for thinking that one performance would change anything.Maybe I should stop writing songs and start writing fiction.

Children make up the best songs, anyway. Better than grown-ups. Kids are always working on songs and throwing them away, like little origami things or paper airplanes. They don't care if they lose it; they'll just make another one.

He likes a day in the studio to end, he says, "when my knees are all skinned up and my pants are wet and my hair's off to one side and I feel like I've been in the foxhole all day. I don't think comfort is good for music. It's good to come out with skinned knuckles after wrestling with something you can't see. I like it when you come home at the end of the day from recording and someone says, "What happened to your hand?" And you don't even know. When you're in that place, you can dance on a bro

If I'm going to sing like someone else, then I don't need to sing at all.

A statue stands in a shaded placeAn angel girl with an upturned faceA name is written on a polished rockA broken heart that the world forgot

When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other.

It is better to sing songs of hope than to sing songs of misery.

Luke is the sort of boy Taylor Swift could get at least three songs out of.

How could you be sad, when you can sing?

I never have time to write anymore. And when I do I only write about how I never have time. It's work and it's money and I've written more lists than songs lately. I stay up all night to do all these things I need to do, be all these things I want to be, playing with shadows in the darkness that shouldn't be able to exist. Empty bottles and cigarettes while watching the sunrise, why do I complain? I have it all, everything I ever asked for.

If I knew what to doI'd do more than write a song for you

He not busy being born is busy dying.

I think there is a song out there to describe just about any situation.

Our sweetest songs are those of saddest thought.

If everyone started off the day singing, just think how happy they'd be.

I don't let nobody see me wishin' he was mine

With the love of music, there will be no misery in life.

But what if you're wrong?What if there's more?What if there's hope you never dreamed of hoping for?What if you jump?And just close your eyes?What if the arms that catch you, catch you by surprise?What if He's more than enough?What if it's love?

Cheer up and dry your damp eyes,And tell me when it rains,And I'll blend up that rainbow above you & shoot it through your veins...'Cause your heart has a lack of color,And we should've known That we'd grow up sooner or later,'Cause we wasted all our free time alone. <3

Beautiful songs could sometimes take a person out of themselves and carry them away to a place of magic. But when Jill sang, it was not about the song, really. She could sing the phone book. She could sing a shopping list. Whatever she sang, whatever the words or the tune, it was so beautiful, so achingly lovely, that no one could listen and be untouched.

Two women at the same event wearing the same outfit is a disaster. But two women at the same event singing the same song is a party. And two women at the same event talking about Doris from Fame is a friendship for life. Fill yourself with words, choruses, and heroes, like you're supposed to fill your wardrobe with shoes, brooches, and belts.

Music is what our soul sounds like when it sings.

Songs edify the soul.

The rest of the evening passed agreeably: the crew had their games on the main deck, resigning themselves to Sirs and dice now that dancing was out, those who would go ashore to enjoy the dining halls and tea houses went after their matches were lost, and those who remained either took themselves off to an early rest or remained with the musicians, to sing out the remainder of the evening by way of a few round songs, calling out verses in melodic dissonance, singing the history of Good Marrie th

Halt glared at his friend as the whistling continued.'I had hoped that your new sense of responsibly would put an end to that painful shrieking noise you make between your lips' he said.Crowley smiled. It was a beautiful day and he was feeling at peace with the world. And that meant he was more than ready to tease Halt 'It's a jaunty song''What's jaunty about it?' Halt asked, grim faced. Crowley made an uncertain gesture as he sought for an answer to that question.'I suppose it's the subject mat

It’s true—there are only, like, two songs about rainbows, including that one. He should be asking why there are so few songs about rainbows.

There are, of course, inherent tendencies to repetition in music itself. Our poetry, our ballads, our songs are full of repetition; nursery rhymes and the little chants and songs we use to teach young children have choruses and refrains. We are attracted to repetition, even as adults; we want the stimulus and the reward again and again, and in music we get it. Perhaps, therefore, we should not be surprised, should not complain if the balance sometimes shifts too far and our musical sensitivity b

I could crawl inside the lyrics and know each note intimately. They would claw at my soul, until I could no longer fight the emotions that took me to a place I couldn't experience. But, it was the possibility that made every verse a heart filled prediction and every beat a direction to follow.

Like a comet pulled from orbit, As it passes a sun. Like a stream that meets a boulder, Halfway through the wood. Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But because I knew you, I have been changed for good It well may be, That we will never meet again, In this lifetime. So let me say before we part, So much of me, Is made of what I learned from you. You'll be with me, Like a handprint on my heart. And now whatever way our stories end, I know you have re-written mine, By being my friend

You are a song I could listen to over and over again although I'm convinced it had played in my head a many times before

Panic bells, it's red alertThere's something hereFrom somewhere elseThe war machine springs to lifeOpens up one eager eyeFocusing it on the skyWhere 99 red balloons go by

That was the day the ancient songs of blood and war spilled from a hole in the skyAnd there was a long moment as we listened and fell silent in our griefand then one by one, we stood talland came togetherand began to sing of life and love and all that is good and trueAnd I will never forget that day when the ancient songs died because there was no one in the world to sing them.

People who care nothing for their country's stories and songs,' he said, 'are like people without a past- without a memory- they are half people

I had never killed myself before, so I had no idea what would I want to listen to when it was too late for me to skip to the next song. Like, maybe when you're dying, you actually want to hear something really upbeat.

All we have is "One Life", so go for IT!

88% of what we call good songs aren’t really good. They merely remind us of a good time we once had.

Over and over. They be making me remember everythings. Me old songs, they just be natural. But now they be stuffing new things into me and this poor head hurts horrid.

So long as the human spirit thrives on this planet, music in some living form will accompany and sustain it and give it expressive meaning.

Cemeteries are full of unfulfilled dreams... countless echoes of 'could have' and 'should have'… countless books unwritten… countless songs unsung... I want to live my life in such a way that when my body is laid to rest, it will be a well needed rest from a life well lived, a song well sung, a book well written, opportunities well explored, and a love well expressed.

Nobody ever talks about the pyramids that weren't built, the books that weren't written, the songs that weren't sung. Stop letting your fear condemn you to mediocrity. Get out of your own way. Your dreams are a poetic reflection of your soul's wishes. Be courageous enough to follow them. There is no greater time than now to experience the full power of your potential. Make this the day you take the first step in the beautiful journey of bringing your dreams to life.

You will never find peace with these fascistsYou'll never find friends such as weSo remember that valley of JaramaAnd the people that'll set that valley free.From this valley they say we are goingDo not hasten to bid us adieu Even though we lost the battle at JaramaWe'll set this valley before we're through.All this world is like this valley called JaramaSo green and so bright and so fairNo fascists can dwell in our valleyNor breathe in our new freedoms air.

You have broken my heartI am a little kid,I cannot stop cryingI hit my feet to the ground and my hands to my headLike a flyI cannot get up from the sticky groundI cannot talk about youBecause it hurtsI feel the pain inside my bonesI cannot forget youThe reality has become dream and dream has become nightmareThese are my tearsThey are not my sweatsI have not pissed on myselfEvery drop carries pain and regretThey are all because of you,You broke my virgin heart and poor soul,I thought we belonged

I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart