Quotes About Singing

'The Christmas Song,' by Nat King Cole, is not only a masterful performance; to me it just sounds like the holidays. I've never sung it, because Nat's version is so perfect. I gotta leave it alone.

The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear!

I performed at Mom and Dad's party when I was four. Oh my gosh, I was singing a Madonna song, and I peed myself!

Our dad played us a lot of old country songs by The Carter Family and he would sing along to it. I loved listening to him sing.

Dad always says that I could sing before I could talk

It doesn't matter if you have a desperate heart when you have to sing about joy; it doesn't matter if you're scared to death when the lights go on.

So be my passing! My task accomplished and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart Some late lark singing, Let me be gathered in the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death.

Let me say and not mourn: the world lives in the death of speech and sings there.

Life must be lived as play, playing certain games, making sacrifices, singing and dancing, and then a man will be able to propitiate the gods, and defend himself against his enemies, and win in the contest.

Now actions vary according to the manner of their performance. Take, for example, that which we are now doing, drinking, singing and talking - these actions are not in themselves either good or evil, but they turn out in this or that way according to the mode of performing them; and when well done they are good, and when wrongly done they are evil; and in like manner not every love, but only that which has a noble purpose, is noble and worthy of praise.

What did it mean to a prophet to sing in a God´s own voice? Would that make him a shaman, as in the days described in the Tusk? Or would it make him a god?

The way you're singing in your sleep The way you look before you leap The strange illusions that you keep You don't know But I'm noticing Fuck

Yo sé que tiene alas. Que por las noches sueña en alta voz la brisa de plata de sus ruedas. Yo sé que tiene alas. Que canta cuando vuela dormida, abriendo al sueño una celeste senda. Yo sé que tiene alas. Que volando me lleva por prados que no acaban y mares que no empiezan. Yo sé que tiene alas. Que el día que ella quiera, los cielos de la ida ya nunca tendrá vuelta.

The singing wasn't the hopscotch-jumprope-happy kind. This was the kind of singing that, if you tracked it to its source, you might find a little girl in a moldy old burial dress, her skin pitted & green, with lots of coffin splinters & dirt between her teeth... ...like a mermaid luring idiot sailors...Winny wasn't a sailor, & he wasn't old enough to get all sexed up by some hot siren.

The famous British actress Beatrice Lillie was once onstage in Ontario, Canada, performing in Noël Coward's This Year of Grace, the entire cast lined up to one side of her. She was singing "Britannia Rules the Waves," when she mistakenly began to sing the second verse twice, before moving to the third. She realized what she was doing but had to carry forward with it. The cast froze in place instead of moving to center stage—which

A fat woman was dancing the cha-cha with a cat, and a thunderous chorus was singing the praises of Purina Cat Chow.

this woman was trouble the first moment he saw her and heard her exuberant "good morning." Even her name was cheerful: Julia. Looking at her, it was easy to envision the opening scene from The Sound of Music, with Julie Andrews twirling around, arms extended, singing, joyful, excited.

That was the problem, she no longer knew what she wanted. (Shrouded in grief and lost dreams, her joy had vanished, the same way laughter and singing had.)

In the morning, when it was raining In the morning, when it was raining, Then the birds were hectic and loudy; Through all the reign is fall's entertaining; Their singing was erratic and full of disorder: They did not remember the summer blue Or the orange of June. They did not think at all Of the great red and bursting ball Of the kingly sun's terror and tempest, blazing, Once the slanting rain threw over all The colorless curtains of the ceaseless spontaneous fall.

We in Purgatory sing fondly of Hell.

I knew him, this John Smith. Once at a party he tried to sell me a gun, and later at the same party he made everyone quiet down for a few minutes because I was singing along with the radio, and he liked my voice.

Sometimes,' he whispered at last, 'sometimes, I dream I am singing, and I wake from it with my throat aching.' He couldn't see her face, or the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. 'What do you sing?' she whispered back. She heard the shush of the linen pillow as he shook his head. 'No song I've ever heard, or know,' he said softly. 'But I know I'm singing it for you.

This particular patient was lying on his back, under the lantern, his working eye half closed, singing to himself in German. He desisted when I came in, and turned his head to see who it was, blinking at sight of my armament. "Are we expecting imminent invasion and capture?" he asked, sitting up. "Lie back down. No, this is Jamie being provident.

She heard the silkies singing, there upon the rocks, one, and two, and three of them, and she saw from her tower, one and two, and three of them, and so she came down, and went to the sea, and so under it, to live wi' the silkies.