Sing Quotes

“Tell me where the swans go in the winter
I need to know if the mute ones can sing.

Tell me why stars fall from the sky
I need to know if it is luck they bring.

Tell me why feathers land near you
I need to know if you've injured your wing.

Now, tell me where you end, my angel
For I no longer know where I begin.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“What is life?
Life is living in this moment,
experiencing and experimenting
but experience isn’t life.
Life is reflecting and meditating
but reflection isn’t life.
Life is helping and guiding
but philanthropy isn’t life.
Life is eating and drinking
but food isn’t life.
Life is reading and dancing
but art isn’t life.
Life is kissing and pleasuring
but sex isn’t life.
Life is winning and losing
but competition isn’t life.
Life is loving and caring
but love isn’t life.
Life is birthing and nurturing
but children aren’t life.
Life is letting go and surrendering
but death isn’t life.
Life is all these things
but all these things aren’t life.
Life is
always more.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“This is a day of celebration!
Today, we are divorcing the past
and marrying the present.
Dance,
and you will find God
in every room.
Today, we are divorcing resentment
and marrying forgiveness.
Sing,
and God will find you
in every tune.
Today, we are divorcing indifference
and marrying love.
Drink, and play that tambourine
against your thighs.
We have so much celebrating to do!”
― Kamand Kojouri

“ "Breathe deeply and concentrate on me. You are safe.”
I take a shallow breath, but it chokes me.
“Look at me,” Morpheus presses. I focus on his complexion, the color of snowy shadows beneath the eclipse of his wings, and he begins to sing. Not inside my mind, since the iron dome prevents it, but aloud . . . a simple, sweet lullaby, carried on his beautiful voice.
“Little blossom so filled with dread, clear the nightmares from your head. Let me wipe away your tears, for in this place you have no fears.” ”
― A.G. Howard, Ensnared

“Something tugged inside him. A flutter of unease.
Do you sing? Those had been her first words to him, the day she had bought him.
A band of nausea circled Arin’s throat, just as it had when she had asked him that question, in part for the same reason.
She’d had no trace of an accent. She had spoken in perfect, natural, mother-taught Herrani.”
― Marie Rutkoski, The Winner's Kiss

“They took my books
because my message was love.
They took my pen
because my words were love.
Then they took my voice
because my song was love.
Soon they’ll take myself
so nothing remains.
But they don’t know that when I'm gone
my love will stay.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“We can all take pictures but not everyone can capture the beauty that's usually hidden in plain view...

We can all open our mouth to sing but not everyone can melodically touch your soul...

We can all pick up a pen to write but not everyone can write words in such a way that they leap off of the page for you...

We can all part our lips to speak but not everyone can speak life into you...

We can all move our bodies to a beat but not everyone can become one with music, stir emotions and shift energy with dance...

Point is: WE CAN all do something but Know your gifts, cultivate them and ALWAYS, ALWAYS BE YOURSELF! Then working together becomes effortless. Copies aren't accepted everywhere...ORIGINALS are eventually required!”
― Sanjo Jendayi

“When a writer's heart is filled with the music of her soul, her words sing.”
― A.D. Posey

“Let your heart sing from those wounded places.
When you sing your song with everything you've got,
it will not only heal you, but it will heal all of us through you.”
― Gemma B. Benton, Then She Sang A Willow Song: Reclaiming Life and Power with the Ancestors

“Long before the stars died the birds began to sing - cool rippling doves, loud cheery starlings, the long lilting trills of warblers and thrushes.”
― Mike Bond, The Last Savanna

“It is beautiful to hear, how even the demons inside me have started singing your name.”
― Akshay Vasu

“awake, then die
in the arms of a modified lover
sleep, then dream
in the absence of a tangible lover
envision, then sing
in the thralls of a hungry lover”
― A.P. Sweet, The Abattoir of Silence

“Singers provide all the proof that we have souls.”
― J.R. Rim

“I sing a beautiful song quietly in my heart.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita, Think Great: Be Great!

“If you cannot sleep, sing to your soul.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“Sing a Song before you can Sing some Song ~”
― save-lagu.com

“Sing just to express your love for life and everything around you. No reason is needed to sing.”
― Debasish Mridha

“Listening to Don Moen's songs always reminds me of my darkest moments

Then I was always listening to them and crying, locking myself alone in the room, shedding tears, questioning God, singing along with Don Moen

But today, whenever I listen to the songs, I always smile.

Indeed, God never sleeps, He never slumbers”
― OMOSOHWOFA CASEY

“Open spaces sing to my heart
of the art of nature and the nature of art.”
― Jay Woodman

“My soul sings joyful praise to the Holy one.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“Love is the only song I sing.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“It is not your mouth that sings. It is your mind and heart that sing.”
― Debasish Mridha MD

“See how the fearful chandelier Trembles above you Each time you open your mouth To sing. Sing. —DONALD JUSTICE”
― Anne Lamott, Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith

“We can all take pictures but not everyone can capture the beauty that's usually hidden in plain view...

We can all open our mouth to sing but not everyone can can melodically touch your soul...

We can all pick up a pen to write but not everyone can write words in such a way that they leap off of the page for you...

We can all part our lips to speak but not everyone can speak life into you...

We can all move our bodies to a beat but not everyone can become one with music, stir emotions and shift energy with dance...

Point is: WE CAN all do something but Know your gifts, cultivate them and ALWAYS, ALWAYS BE YOURSELF! Then working together becomes effortless. Copies aren't accepted everywhere...ORIGINALS are eventually required!”
― Sanjo Jendayi

“In the early days, I might have gotten on stage and begun to sing as a desperate attempt to communicate, but now I found that singing was both a physical and emotional joy. It was sensuous, a pure pleasure, which didn't take away from the emotions being expressed—even if they were melancholic. Music can do that; you can enjoy singing about something sad.”
― David Byrne, How Music Works

“He knew how to construct a song out of the nothing of day-to-day life and how to sing that nothing into a song so beautiful that it could sustain the vision of a whole and better world.”
― Kate DiCamillo, The Magician's Elephant

“If God wanted the woods to be quiet, He would not have given birds songs to sing.”
― Matshona Dhliwayo

“After a few minutes, she speaks up again. “You’re next. Sing.”
Anxiety grips Hallelujah’s chest, squeezing. “I don’t sing,” she says.
“C’mon, it doesn’t matter if you’re bad. It’s not like this is a concert hall—”
“She’s not bad.” Jonah’s back. “She has a great voice.”
Rachel swings around to look from Jonah to Hallelujah. “Really? Now you have to—”
“No."
“But—”
“I don’t sing,” Hallelujah repeats, turning away.
Jonah joins them by the fire. The silence stretches out. Except it’s not really silent, not with the birds and wind and fire and how loud Hallelujah’s heart is beating. And then Jonah clears his throat. “You used to sing,” he says. “You were great.”
Hallelujah ignores the compliment. She looks into the fire. She feels the last of the day’s happiness fading away, already a memory.
“Why’d you quit?” Jonah asks. “Was it ’cause of Luke?”
Hallelujah inhales deeply. She feels the familiar spark of anger in her gut. “Yes,” she says. “It was because of Luke. And you. And everyone else. So thanks for that.” Jonah’s face drops. She can see that she’s hit a nerve. Well, he hurt her first. The way he took Luke’s side, shutting her out. The loss of his friendship, when she needed a friend most. The loss of their voices harmonizing, when she needed music most. How she just hurt him can’t begin to compare to all of that.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“If I had the choice, I would sing only love songs.”
― Debasish Mridha

“The intruders spoke no words as they rushed in. Five boys carrying baseball bats and tire irons. They wore an assortment of Halloween masks and stocking masks.
But Derek knew who they were.
“No! No!” he cried.
All five boys wore bulky shooter’s earmuffs. They couldn’t hear him. But more importantly, they couldn’t hear Jill.
One of the boys stayed in the doorway. He was in charge. A runty kid named Hank. The stocking pulled down over his face smashed his features into Play-Doh, but it could only be Hank.
One of the boys, fat but fast-moving and wearing an Easter Bunny mask, stepped to Derek and hit him in the stomach with his aluminum baseball bat.
Derek dropped to his knees.
Another boy grabbed Jill. He put his hand over her mouth. Someone produced a roll of duct tape.
Jill screamed. Derek tried to stand, but the blow to his stomach had winded him. He tried to stand up, but the fat boy pushed him back down.
“Don’t be stupid, Derek. We’re not after you.”
The duct tape went around and around Jill’s mouth. They worked by flashlight. Derek could see Jill’s eyes, wild with terror. Pleading silently with her big brother to save her.
When her mouth was sealed, the thugs pulled off their shooter’s earmuffs.
Hank stepped forward. “Derek, Derek, Derek,” Hank said, shaking his head slowly, regretfully. “You know better than this.”
“Leave her alone,” Derek managed to gasp, clutching his stomach, fighting the urge to vomit.
“She’s a freak,” Hank said.
“She’s my little sister. This is our home.”
“She’s a freak,” Hank said. “And this house is east of First Avenue. This is a no-freak zone.”
“Man, come on,” Derek pleaded. “She’s not hurting anyone.”
“It’s not about that,” a boy named Turk said. He had a weak leg, a limp that made it impossible not to recognize him. “Freaks with freaks, normals with normals. That’s the way it has to be.”
“All she does is—”
Hank’s slap stung. “Shut up. Traitor. A normal who stands up for a freak gets treated like a freak. Is that what you want?”
“Besides,” the fat boy said with a giggle, “we’re taking it easy on her. We were going to fix her so she could never sing again. Or talk. If you know what I mean.”
He pulled a knife from a sheath in the small of his back. “Do you, Derek? Do you understand?”
Derek’s resistance died.
“The Leader showed mercy,” Turk said. “But the Leader isn’t weak. So this freak either goes west, over the border right now. Or…” He let the threat hang there.
Jill’s tears flowed freely. She could barely breathe because her nose was running. Derek could see that by the way she sucked tape into her mouth, trying for air. She would suffocate if they didn’t let her go soon.
“Let me at least get her doll.”
― Michael Grant, Lies