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Songs Quotes (page 58)

So many people say, ‘So, what, are you a party girl?’ And I say, ‘I’m a walking good time.’ Do I sometimes go out and drink? Hell, yes. But could I have a number one song if I wasn’t also working hard? Maybe that needs a little more respect. Kesha
Boris Pasternak quote: "Oh, what a love it was, utterly free, unique, like nothing..."
Oh, what a love it was, utterly free, unique, like nothing else on earth! Their thoughts were like other people's songs. Boris Pasternak
I wanna put you in my car and drive And turn you up loud, roll down all the windows and shout it out I love this girl oh If I could press play, repeat how happy I’d be Wherever I’d go I’d have you there with me You’d be right where you belong I wanna put you in a song, oh oh oh. Keith Urban
Siegfried Sassoon quote: "O, but EveryoneWas a bird; and the song was wordless; the..."
O, but EveryoneWas a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done. Siegfried Sassoon
Between childhood, boyhood, adolescence and manhood (maturity) there should be sharp lines drawn with tests, deaths, feats, rites, stories, songs, and judgments. Jim Morrison
The present flowed by them like a stream. The tree rustled. It had made music before they were born, and would continue after their deaths, but its song was of the moment. The moment had passed. The tree rustled again. Their senses were sharpened, and they seemed to apprehend life. Life passed. The tree rustled again. E. M. Forster
And there, with their gables lifting into the sunlight above deep hedgerows beautiful with spring. He saw the cottages of earthly men. Past them he walked while the beauty of evening grew, with songs of birds, and scents wandering from flowers, and odours that deepened, and evening decked herself to receive the Evening Star. Lord Dunsany
You are life, inventing form. No more can you die on sword or years than you can die on doorways through which you walk, one room into another. Every room gives its word for you to speak, every passage its song for you to sing. Richard Bach
The poet wishes to strike beautiful notes, not new notes... To ask or expect a poet to strike a new note in poetry is exactly like asking or expecting the Nightengale to strike a new note in her perennial song. Alfred Douglas
LXXIXWhen I die, I want your hands on my eyes. I want the light and wheat of your beloved hands to pass their freshness over me once more. LI want to feel the softness that changed my destiny. I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep. I want your ears still to hear the wind, I want you to sniff the sea's aroma that we loved together, to continue to walk on the sand we walk on. I want what I love to continue to live, and you whom I love and sang above everything else. to continue to... Pablo Neruda
The earth will never be the same again Rock, water, tree, iron, share this greif As distant stars participate in the pain. A candle snuffed, a falling star or leaf, A dolphin death, O this particular loss A Heaven-mourned; for if no angel cried If this small one was tossed away as dross, The very galaxies would have lied. How shall we sing our love's song now In this strange land where all are born to die? Each tree and leaf and star show how The universe is part of this one cry, Every life... Madeleine L'Engle
So to you, or anyone else who has spent four minutes on me in some way-- listening to just one song, or watching one of my videos….Thank you. I love you like I love sparkles and having the last word. And that's real love. Taylor Swift
The more I dim my eyes over print and frazzle my brain over abstract ideas, the more I appreciate the delight of being basically an animal wrapped in a sensitive skin: sex, the resistance of rock, the taste and touch of snow, the feel of the sun, good wine and a rare beefsteak and the company of friends around a fire with a guitar and lousy old cowboy songs. Despair: I'll never be a scholar, never be a decent good Christian. Just a hedonist, a pagan, a primitive romantic Edward Abbey
Charles Bukowski quote: "What were you going to do tonight?" "I was going to listen to..."
What were you going to do tonight?" "I was going to listen to the songs of Rachmaninoff." "Who's that?" "A dead Russian. Charles Bukowski
Over the town roamed the homeless moon. I went along with her, warming up in my heart impracticable dreams and discordant songs. Isaac Babel

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