Quotes About Lullaby

Perhaps we are given a mom that we might take into death the memory of a lullaby.

And he'll beat you, beat you, beat you And he'll beat you all to pap And he'll eat you, eat you, eat you Every morsel snap snap snap! English Lullaby

When I got tired, Logan would sing me to sleep, sometimes a painfully appropriate song like Flogging Molly's "If I Ever Leave This World Alive" or Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars." Sometimes he'd pick a lilting Irish lullaby, or even a song he'd written himself.

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed; So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock on the misty sea.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, and Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies is a wee one's trundle-bed. So shut your eyes while Mother sings of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things as you rock in the misty sea, Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Mind you, I've always been musical... Mother used to sit me on her knee and I'd whisper, 'Mummy, Mummy, sing me a lullaby do,' and she'd say: 'Certainly my angel, my wee bundle of happiness, hold my beer while I fetch me banjo.'

hope lingers over us like a lullaby because we were created to experience love and to give love.

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us, And black are the waters that sparkled so green. The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us At rest in the hollows that rustle between. Where billow meets billow, then soft be thy pillow, Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease! The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas! —Seal Lullaby

She wasn't actually speaking to me, she was singing a kind of lullaby of talk. But, eventually, the music stopped.

Bye baby bunting,Daddy's gone a-hunting.Gone to get a rabbit skinTo wrap the baby bunting in.

I sang 'O Holy Night' with the Vatican orchestra, but also a Blake - a lullaby that William Blake wrote for the Christ child, and I set it to music, and the Vatican orchestra played the music.

This Lullaby is only a few words, a simple run of chords, quiet here in this spare room, but you can hear it, hear it, wherever you may go, even if I let you down, this lullaby plays on...

Esta nana son solo unas pocas palabras Una simple serie de acordes Tranquilo aquí en este cuarto de invitados Pero tu puedes oírla, oírla Donde sea que puedas ir Incluso si te defraudo Esta nana seguirá sonando...

The lullaby my husband puts our son to sleep with is so random. It's 'Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough' by Michael Jackson.

I really didn't get obsessed with Bowie until my freshman year in high school. I remember listening to 'Starman' and thinking it sounded like it was a song for kids, like a lullaby. The Thin White Duke is my favorite look that he created.

I was born in Dixie in a boomer's shack,Just a little shanty by the railroad track,The humming of the drivers was my lullabyAnd a freight train whistle taught me how to cry.

the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep ...

Sleep on and on, war's over soon. Drop the silly, harmless toy, pick up the moon. Lullaby.

This struggle (...between the instinct of life and the instinct of destruction) is what all life essentially consists of, and the evolution of civilization may therefore be simply described as the struggle for life of the human species. And it is this battle that our nurse-maids try to appease with their lullaby about Heaven.

Soft moss a downy pillow makes, and green leaves spread a tent, Where Faerie fold may rest and sleep until their night is spent. The bluebird sings a lullaby, the firefly gives a light, The twinkling stars are candles bright, Sleep, Faeries all, Good Night.

Hush-a-bye baby in the tree top, when the wind blows the cradle will rock, when the bough breaks the cradle will fall, and down will come baby, cradle and all. Momma will catch you, give you a squeeze, send you back up to play in the trees, when twilight falls and birds seek their nests, come home to the one who loves you the best.

She was humming something melancholy and familiar. I strained to make it out—a folk song? a lullabye?—and then realized it was the theme to M*A*S*H. Suicide is painless. I went downstairs.

My music is so often like a lullaby I write to myself to make sense of things I can't tie together, or things I've lost, or things I'll never have.

Wherever you will go, I will let you down, But this lullaby goes on.