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Song Quotes (page 10)

All that is left in the world is an enormous machine, made of white steel. It has innumerable flexible arms, made of steel. Long, thin arms. At the end of each arm is an eye, the eyelashes stiff with mascara. When I look more closely I see that only some of the arms have these eyes–others have lights. The arms that carry the eyes and the arms that carry the lights are all extraordinarily flexible and very beautiful. But they grey sky, which is the background, terrifies me. . . . And the arms... Jean Rhys
Forgetfulness heals everything and song is the most beautiful manner of forgetting, for in song man feels only what he loves. Ivo Andric
Thinking of you is pretty, hopeful, It is like listening to the most beautiful song From the most beautiful voice on earth... But hope is not enough for me any more, I don't want to listen to songs any more, I want to sing. Nazim Hikmet
Are you - are you sad?" - No. "But your - your songs are sad." - My songs are of time and distance. The sadness is in you. Watch my arms. There is only the dance. These things you treasure are shells. William Gibson
Robert James Waller quote: "The reality is not exactly what the song started out to be,..."
The reality is not exactly what the song started out to be, but it's not a bad song. Robert James Waller
Cruel of heart, lay down my song. Your reading eyes have done me wrong. Not for you was the pen bitten, And the mind wrung, and the song written. Edna St. Vincent Millay
Or maybe memories are like karaoke - where you realize up on the stage, with all those lyrics scrawling across the screen's bottom, and with everybody clapping at you, that you didn't even know the lyrics to your all-time favourite song. Only afterwards, when someone else is up on stage humiliating themselves amid the clapping and laughing, do you realize that what you liked most about your favourite song was precisely your ignorance of its full meaning - and you read more into it than maybe... Doug Coupland
His own opinion, which he does not air, is that the origin of speech lie in song, and the origins of song in the need to fill out with sound the overlarge and rather empty human soul. J. M. Coetzee
THE ROBINO Robin, sing! for the secret of eternity is in song. I wish I were as you, free from prisons and chains. I wish I were as you; a soul flying over the valleys, Sipping the light as wine is sipped from ethereal cups. I wish I were asyou, innocent, contented and happy. Ignoring the future and forgetting the past. I wish I were as you in beauty, grace and elegance. With the wind spreading my wings for adornment by the dew. I wish I were as you in beauty, a thought floating above the... Khalil Gibran
I am in need of music that would flow. Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips, Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips, With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow. Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low, Of some song sung to rest the tired dead, A song to fall like water on my head, And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow! There is a magic made by melody: A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool. Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep. To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,... Elizabeth Bishop
But he is not always alone. When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack. Jack London
Our songs travel the earth. We sing to one another. Not a single note is ever lost and no song is original. They all come from the same place and go back to a time when only the stones howled. Louise Erdrich
Nicholas Sparks quote: "I finished your song, she said. Our last song. And I want to..."
I finished your song, she said. Our last song. And I want to play it for you. Nicholas Sparks
Winter will never come for the likes of us. Should we die in battle, they will surely sing of us, and it’s always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining. George R. R. Martin
Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty. And Harry felt, as he had felt about phoenix song before, that the music was inside him, not without: It was his own grief turned magically to song.. J. K. Rowling

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