40 Song Quotes

The song seraphically free Of taint of personality, So pure that it salutes the suns The voice of one for millions, In whom the millions rejoice For giving their one spirit voice.

Prayer does not use up artificial energy, doesn't burn up any fossil fuel, doesn't pollute. Neither does song, neither does love, neither does the dance.

Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure; Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure; Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days! Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways.

God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone; He that sings a lasting song Thinks in a marrow-bone.

Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right - The leaves upon her falling light - Thro' the noises of the night, She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott. Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.

Un soir, l'ame du vin chantait dans les bouteilles: 'Homme, vers toi je pousse, o cher desherite, Sous ma prison de verre et mes cires vermeilles.'

Come! let the burial rite be read - the funeral song be sung! - An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young - A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

If I had to take eveything into consideration, [the truly essential song] would have to be 'Conga.' First, because I don't think I can get away with not performing that song in some shape or form. Second, because it started the possiblility of 'Mi Tierra' [Estefan's top-selling Spanish album] happening. Not only did it talk about a specific rhythm of my homeland [Cuba], it talked about being Latino, and the celebratory nature of dance. It was very musically forward in that it mixed a funk bassline and a 2/4 beat on the drums and the Latin percussion. It was something that really put us on the map. And even though it's a frivolous and fun song, it talks about who we are as immigrants in this land.

And so I'd dream a bass will join me, and fill the bottom in. And maybe now some lead guitar so it would not sound so thin. I need some drums to set the beat and help me keep in time. And way back in the distance, some strings would sound so fine.

I see the Flowers free, And a little bird singing on a tree. It sings to me the whole day long, And I love to hear it's pretty song.

Sing louder around To the bells' cheerful sound, While our sports shall be seen On the ecchoing green.

Dicko: The mountain was too high, the river too deep. Cabaret.

'The one Brian did, the George Formby, uh, God what's it called, um... You know the George Formby ukulele number on A Night At The Opera? God I've forgotten the name, um, uh...oh dear. Anyway..it's the, guah, what's it called! A Night At The Opera....ah, I'll think about it in a minute!' (the song Freddie forgot about was Good Company)

Here abandoned in my fame Armageddon of the brain KGB was doggin' me Take my name and just let me be ~ Stranger In Moscow

For the first time I understood the haunting beauty of the song. It was the song of a killer who longer to die. It was the song of justice yearned for but not yet done

To speak of joy and to sing of it, borne on The shoulders of joyous men, to feel the heart That is the common, the bravest fundament, This is a facile exercise

'Gimme More' (2007)

'I'm doing a new song in this show. Actually, I sang it on the last tour... It's a song, it's called 'Between My Legs,' and it's going to be another of my HUMONGOUS hits. They're gonna love it in the Bible Belt! ...Beneath the Bible Belt! ...Hey, that's pretty good! Beneath the Bible Belt... *giggle* Er, below the Bible Belt! Eh, however it goes... *giggle* This song's about the end of the world. Okay, here we go...' ~Before 'Between My Legs' in Northampton, MA on Nov. 4, 2005

We human beings are tuned such that we crave great melody and great lyrics. And if somebody writes a great song, it's timeless that we as humans are going to feel something for that and there's going to be a real appreciation. [1]

No te conoce el toro ni la higuera, ni caballos ni hormigas de tu casa. No te conoce el nino ni la tarde porque te has muerto para siempre. No te conoce el lomo de la piedra, ni el raso negro donde te destrozas. No te conoce tu recuerdo mudo porque te has muerto para siempre. El otono vendra con caracolas, uva de niebla y montes agrupados, pero nadie querra mirar tus ojos porque te has muerto para siempre. Porque te has muerto para siempre, como todos los muertos de la Tierra, como todos los muertos que se olvidan en un monton de perros apagados. No te conoce nadie. No. Pero yo te canto. Yo canto para luego tu perfil y tu gracia. La madurez insigne de tu conocimiento. Tu apetencia de muerte y el gusto de tu boca. La tristeza que tuvo tu valiente alegria.

Out of my own great woe I make my little songs.

Ich singe, wie der Vogel singt Der in den Zweigen wohnet.

Tell her I'll sing if she christens a ship first...

I got a woman way over town, That's good to me, Oh yeah!

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture!

Unless I'm wrong I but obey The urge of a song: I'm-bound-away! And I may return If dissatisfied With what I learn From having died.

Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more To thee, God's daughter, powerful as God, It is that thou hast made my life too sweet To hold the added sweetness of a song. There is a quiet at the heart of love, And I have pierced the pain and come to peace.

Make songs for Death as you would sing to Love - But you will not assuage him. He alone Of all the gods will take no gifts from men.

I have grown weary of the winds of heaven. I will not be a reed to hold the sound Of whatsoever breath the gods may blow, Turning my torment into music for them. They gave me life; the gift was bountiful, I lived with the swift singing strength of fire, Seeking for beauty as a flame for fuel - Beauty in all things and in every hour. The gods have given life - I gave them song; The debt is paid and now I turn to go.

I should be glad of loneliness And hours that go on broken wings, A thirsty body, a tired heart And the unchanging ache of things, If I could make a single song As lovely and as full of light, As hushed and brief as a falling star On a winter night.