Top 100 Quotes About Sings
#1. To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.
Wendell Berry
#2. In Damascus:
the traveler sings to himself:
I return from Syria
neither alive
nor dead
but as clouds
that ease the butterfly's burden
from my fugitive soul
Mahmoud Darwish
#3. What I look for in a voice is for it to be unique. I don't really care if a singer sings well. Really, it's about emotion, or being able to sing the lyrics and actually mean it. A lot of singers sing good notes but forget about what words they use.
Zedd
#4. The thundering line of battle stands, And in the air Death moans and sings: But Day shall clasp him with strong hands, And Night shall fold him in soft wings.
Julian Grenfell
#5. Creation is more than an accident of dead matter. It's a romance. It has purpose. It sings of the Living God. It bears his signature.
Charles J. Chaput
#6. The song still remains which names the land over which it sings.
Martin Heidegger
#7. Forever, if she promises to never part the ocean where the river sings.
Delano Johnson
#8. Seated upon the convex mound Of one vast kidney, Jonah prays And sings his canticles and hymns, Making the hollow vault resound God's goodness and mysterious ways, Till the great fish spouts music as he swims.
Aldous Huxley
#10. Really, I'm trying to care, Artemis, really. But I thought it was all supposed to be over when the fat lady sings. Well, she's singing, but it doesn't appear to be over
Eoin Colfer
#11. Historically and phenomenologically viewed, dance is the original art. All arts are found within it, in its undivided unity. The image, made dynamic through movement and countermovement, sings and speaks simultaneously ...
Gerard Van Der Leeuw
#12. It's insane that, since the Beatles and Dylan, it's assumed that all musicians should do everything themselves. It's that ridiculous, teenage idea that when Mick Jagger sings, he's telling you something about his own life. It's so arrogant to think that people would want to know about it anyway!
Brian Eno
#13. But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
William Butler Yeats
#14. Some of my favorite films are musicals, like 'Walk the Line,' 'The Rose' and 'Lady Sings the Blues.' I just love the way the music and the story fuel each other.
Gina Prince-Bythewood
#15. How sweet the harmonies of the afternoon!
The Blackbird sings along the sunny breeze
His ancient song of leaves, and summer boon;
Rich breath of hayfields streams thro' whispering trees;
And birds of morning trim their bustling wings,
And listen fondly
while the Blackbird sings.
Frederick Tennyson
#16. My heart has become as hard as a city street, the horses trample upon it, it sings like iron, all day long and all night long they beat, they ring like the hooves of time.
Conrad Aiken
#17. Naturally I drew register a little exaggerated, in order to create something new in the sense of a sublime literature that sings of despair only in order to oppress the reader, and make him desire the good as the remedy.
Comte De Lautreamont
#18. The voice gets to the soul of a person more than any other instrument. Because it's the voice. It sings talks, it cries, it laughs, it squeals, it barks, it shouts it whispers, There is no other instrument that can do that. We're born with it.
Bobby McFerrin
#19. A poet is a silent singer; he sings the deep songs of the soul silently.
Debasish Mridha
#21. He sings so softly. Almost a whisper. Not like her father at all. Like the voices they give to the dolls, the men.
Emily Ruskovich
#22. I would not for my life destroy one star of human hope, but I want it so that when a poor woman rocks the cradle and sings a lullaby to the dimpled darling, she will not be compelled to believe that ninety-nine chances in a hundred she is raising kindling wood for hell.
Robert Green Ingersoll
#23. Wild sings the bird of the heart in the forests of our lives.
Mary Oliver
#24. Electricity, the peril the wind sings to in the wires on a gray day.
Janet Frame
#25. He kisses like Elliott Smith sings.
Anonymous
#26. I would like to paint the way a bird sings.
Claude Monet
#27. The true self is not aware that it is a self. A bird, as it sings, sings itself. But not according to a picture. It has no idea of itself.
D.H. Lawrence
#28. The blade sings to me. Faintly, so soft against my ears, its voice calms my worries and tells me that one touch will take it all away. It tells me that I just need to slide a long horizontal cut, and make a clean slice. It tells me the words that I have been begging to hear: this will make it ok.
Amanda Steele
#29. And in the homosexual phase which would follow Eurydice's death ... Orpheus sings no more, he writes.
Jacques Derrida
#30. A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
#31. The activity of a singer that sings opera is similar to that of an athlete.
Andrea Bocelli
#32. I've been scuffed up a little, but I just hope and pray that I keep my youthful looks for as long as possible. I grew up in a musical family
my mom sings and my father plays the piano. They were both very active in the church.
Cyrus Chestnut
#34. Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water, sings the pebbles into perfection.
Rabindranath Tagore
#35. Is he crazy? No one has ever told me my doodles are good, not that I flash them around or anything. Gen likes them, but she also thinks vampire romances are literature and sings along to 'Islands in the Stream.' Her tastes are dubious. She's not a reliable source.
Jules Barnard
#37. My heart isn't Tiffany.
It's made of broken dreams
strung together with hope.
But, it sings her name
from the bottom
of my junk shop heart.
Kirk Diedrich
#38. I happen to be a guy who also plays the piano and sings, so people automatically associate me with Billy Joel.
Gavin DeGraw
#39. I've learned what 'classical' means. It means something that sings and dances through sheer joy of existence.
Gustav Holst
#40. Tess was awake before dawn - at the marginal minute of the dark when the grove is still mute, save for one prophetic bird who sings with a clear-voiced conviction that he at least knows the correct time of day, the rest preserving silence as if equally convinced that he is mistaken.
Thomas Hardy
#41. The man who is praised by others is regarded as worthy though he may be really void of all merit. But the man who sings his own praises becomes disgraced though he should be Indra, the possessor of all excellencies.
Chanakya
#43. Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
Elizabeth Bishop
#44. Sings. Hope in every sphere of life is a privilege that attaches to action. No action, no hope.
Peter Levi
#45. It is in the brain that the poppy is red, that the apple is odorous, that the skylark sings.
Oscar Wilde
#46. Shining in the midnight moonlight, while the King sings love me tender.
Laurie Anderson
#47. Life without love is like a tree without blossoms or fruit."
"Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving
Kahlil Gibran
#48. Don't fall in love with me. I hold within me a hundred prayers. My soul sings the lament of the damned. I am my own purgatory. I design my own hell.
Nessie Q.
#49. A bird sings in the morning, an owl hoots at night ... it's still a bloody bird.
Oliver Reed
#50. Love moves in sync with the cadence of forgiveness, sings in tune with the melody of acceptance, and dances in rhythm with the music of companionship.
Steve Maraboli
#51. Cruelty is a mystery, and the waste of pain. But if we describe a word to compass these things, a world that is a long, brute game, then we bump against another mystery: the inrush of power and delight, the canary that sings on the skull.
Annie Dillard
#52. I have come to the conviction that once one embarks on a concept for a building, this concept has to be exaggerated and overstated and repeated in every part of its interior so that wherever you are, inside or outside, the building sings with the same message.
Eero Saarinen
#53. A song, a beautiful song sings in my soul and heart.
Religious Leader Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans
The Religion Of The Blue Circle
Petra Hermans
#54. So this is love:
the Sculptor's chisel.
And stone, which in its whole life
does not utter a single word,
suddenly sings.
Milan Rufus
#55. She sings on and on, while the house is discreetly dusted all around her and, in the concealed and subterranean kitchen, a naked duck, limp and faintly steaming, spreads its pimpled legs on a draining board.
Michel Faber
#56. I'm just an ordinary, walking-down-the-street, mother of two children who sings for her supper.
Eddi Reader
#57. Hush! With sudden gush As from a fountain sings in yonder bush The Hermit Thrush.
John B. Tabb
#58. The whole truth ...
sings only -and all lovers are the song
E. E. Cummings
#59. While one is singing one does not think about whether of not the singing is useful. One simply sings.
Hermann Hesse
#60. The days are cold, the nights are long, The North wind sings a doleful song; Then hush again upon my breast; All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty love!
Dorothy Wordsworth
#61. Words Like Freedom
There are words like Freedom
Sweet and wonderful to say.
On my heartstrings freedom sings
All day everyday.
There are words like Liberty
That almost make me cry.
If you had known what I know
You would know why.
Langston Hughes
#62. His power sings to your blood. I witnessed your reaction to him just now. He'll be a king in a few years ... And you'll be his queen.
Kenya Wright
#63. If you don't start with crazy, crazy love, the kind of love that Van Morrison sings about, then you don't have a shot to go the distance. Love's a marathon, Danny, not a sprint.
Caroline Kepnes
#64. A friend is one who joyfully sings with you when you are on the mountaintop, and silently walks beside you through the valley.
William Arthur Ward
#65. You each have the same energy and it sings within you. You need not be shy of it, it is your own. You need not look to gurus, or Gods, or Seths. It dwells within your own being.
Jane Roberts
#66. Hope is a bird that sings the songs of possibilities from the deepness of the heart.
Debasish Mridha
#67. It's great when you play to an audience that knows the words to all your songs, and sings them back to you.
Chris Cornell
#68. The calls of birds and the traces left by wolves to mark off their territories are no less forms of language than the sings of humans. What is distinctively human is not the capacity for language. It is the crystallisation of language in writing.
John N. Gray
#69. You're not supposed to go anywhere. Jenny said you're grounded for getting suspended."
I snort.
"Damn, Hope," Guy sings. "You got suspended? I think we need to drop the P in your name 'cause you is a hoe.
Cheryl McIntyre
#70. I bless the rising sun each day, and, as before, my heart sings to meet it, but now I love even more its setting, its long slanting rays & the soft tender gentle memories that come with them ... '
-Father Zossima
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
#71. When your hair is rising, that's when you know it's a good song - that's happened to me with some artists and some songs, John Lennon songs or when Nina Simone sings. It's great to make those moments yourself.
Jose Gonzalez
#72. I decided at 15 that I didn't want to be one of those artists that gets up and sings love songs they don't mean. I decided that I was going to be me to the fullest extent, that my songs were going to reflect relationships I've had, things I've been through, and even the stuff I'm embarrassed about.
Pink
#73. There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring [making music] to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls,
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it.
William Shakespeare
#75. The universe sings a deep, eternal song, sound in waves, in deep sighs, in whispers, in swirling chords and rising, falling tones. The music of the worlds, weaving in a pattern that is both chaos and order, both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.
Jessica Khoury
#76. The Winans have been some of my favorite people, and Marvin certainly has a real anointing when he preaches and sings; he's a great interpreter of my music.
Andrae Crouch
#77. Grace Kelly writes great songs, sings beautifully, is a world class saxophonist, and is going to be a big big star
Huey Lewis
#78. An aged Burgundy runs with a beardless Port. I cherish the fancy that Port speaks sentences of wisdom, Burgundy sings the inspired Ode.
Ambrose Bierce
#79. And the elephant sings deep in the forest-maze
About a star of deathless and painless peace
But no astronomer can find where it is.
Ted Hughes
#80. I'm always shocked by that! I'm not the singer, I'm the songwriter who sings.
Nina Nastasia
#81. When the sparrow sings its final refrain, the hush is felt nowhere more deeply than in the heart of man.
Don Williams
#82. In her eyes, the sadness sings - of one who was destined, for better things.
Lang Leav
#83. A basso sings, and a soprano answers him.
Then there is thunder in a clear blue sky,
And, from the earth, a sigh: This song is finished.
Kenneth Koch
#84. My youngest daughter sings. She's going to be very good. She's graduated from Music School and she's been working down around and getting her feet wet, you know. I had her out with me for a year just showing her the ropes a little bit, but she's going to be all right.
Billy Eckstine
#85. I was born on the night of Samhain, when the barrier between the worlds is whisper-thin and when magic, old magic, sings its heady and sweet song to anyone who cares to hear it.
Carolyn MacCullough
#86. There're lots of musicians in my family, too. My mother sings incredibly well. I've got to make a record with my mother's voice on it. She sings a lyric soprano. We do the opposite. I'm a baritone. She's a star singer in her church. She always does her solo.
Grace Jones
#87. The primitive in each of us climbs closer to the surface during the night, for the moon sings to it, and the cold void between the stars speaks its language. To that savage self, evil can look lovely in too little light.
Dean Koontz
#88. When the human being sings he lends expression to the great wise ways in which the world was made.
Rudolf Steiner
#89. All the signs were right. And when I mean all the sings were right, the only signs that we care about when we start a project of making a record is, do we have the songs - it's that simple.
Graham Nash
#90. My whole body sings to be near him,because every movement he makes is charged with electricity.I often think of putting my arms around him or running my fingers along his lips.When I let my thoughts go there the sharp pain of unrequited love invites the migraine in.
E. Lockhart
#91. We may stumble, but always there is that eternal voice, forever whispering within our ear, that thing which causes the eternal quest, that thing which forever sings and sings.
Ernest Holmes
#92. A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.
Donna Roberts
#93. Nothing sings as sweetly as love, or burns quite like betrayal.
Lucinda Riley
#94. She marking them begins a wailing note And sings extemporally a woeful ditty How love makes young men thrall and old men dote How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answer so.
William Shakespeare
#95. She paints her face to hide her face. Her eyes are deep water. It is not for Geisha to want. It is not for geisha to feel. Geisha is an artist of the floating world. She dances, she sings. She entertains you, whatever you want. The rest is shadows, the rest is secret.
Arthur Golden
#96. My skin still sings from his touch. His cologne lingers on my shirt, the air kissed by his presence.
Adriana Locke
#97. The air is like a butterfly
With frail blue wings.
The happy earth looks at the sky
And sings.
Joyce Kilmer
#98. I watch him, enthralled as slowly, like the predator he is, he stalks me in time to the slow sultry beat of the music. He's barefoot, wearing just an untucked white shirt, jeans, and a smoldering look.
Nina sings "You're mine" as Christian reaches me, his intention clear.
E.L. James
#99. The stream sings a subdued music, a scarcely audible lilt, faint and fluid syllables not quite said. It slips away into its future, where it already is, and flows steadily forth from up the canyon, a fountain of rumors from regions known to it and not to me.
John Daniel
#100. No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
Alexander Pope
