67 Quotes Tagged: song

And I or you pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth.

Yes, and only if my own true love was waiting
If I could hear his heart softly pounding
Yes, and only if he was lying by me
Would I lie in my bed once again.

WILL YOU DANCE WITH ME

As we stand here,
Hand in hand,
Under the neon lights
Of Truth and Love.
I'm asking you to
Dance with me.
To twirl,
Kick,
Drop,
Jump,
And fly
With me.
Skidding and
Sliding across
The dancefloor of life,
I want you to
Glide with me.
Through the
Saddest and
Happiest songs,
The fastest highs
To the longest and
Slowest lows,
I want you to
Flow through
Them all
With
Me.

Once we are born, we begin to forget
The very reason we cane
But you I'm sure I've met
Long before the night the stars went out
We're meeting up again

It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons.

You are a valuable instrument in the orchestration of your own world, and the overall harmony of the universe. Always be in command of your music. Only you can control and shape its tone. If life throws you a few bad notes or vibrations, don't let them interrupt or alter your song.

Do you wrestle with dreams?
Do you contend with shadows?
Do you move in a kind of sleep?
Time has slipped away.
Your life is stolen.
You tarried with trifles,
Victim of your folly.

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

People ask me how I make music. I tell them I just step into it. It's like stepping into a river and joining the flow. Every moment in the river has its song.

If you were a song
What song would you be?

Would you be the voice that sings,
Would you be the music?

When I am singing this song for you
You are not empty air

You are here,
One breath and then another:

You are here with me...

Each song is a child I nourish and give my love to. But even if you have never written a song, your life is a song. How can it not be?

THAT crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea

I once had a dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events some of those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn't really mind, because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.

If you're horrible to me, I'm going to write a song about it, and you won't like it. That's how I operate.

But he calls down a blessing on the blossom of the may,
Because it comes in beauty, and in beauty blows away.