Dr Horrible Sing Along Blog Quotes

It may not feel too classy, begging just to eat
But you know who does that?
Lassie, and she always gets a treat

So you wonder what your part is
Because you're homeless and depressed But home is where the heart is
So your real home's in your chest

Everyone's a hero in their own way Everyone's got villains they must face
They're not as cool as mine
But folks you know it's fine to know your place

Everyone's a hero in their own way
In their own not-that-heroic way
So I thank my girlfriend Penny
Yeah, we totally had sex
She showed me there's so many different muscles I can flex

There's the deltoids of compassion,
There's the abs of being kind
It's not enough to bash in heads
You've got to bash in minds

Everyone's a hero in their own way Everyone's got something they can do Get up go out and fly
Especially that guy, he smells like poo

Everyone's a hero in their own way
You and you and mostly me and you
I'm poverty's new sheriff
And I'm bashing in the slums
A hero doesn't care if you're a bunch of scary alcoholic bums

Everybody!

Everyone's a hero in their own way Everyone can blaze a hero's trail
Don't worry if it's hard
If you're not a friggin 'tard you will prevail

Everyone's a hero in their own way Everyone's a hero in their... ~ Joss Whedon

I miss the way he used to kiss my shoulder whenever it was bare and he was nearby. I miss how he cleared his throat before he took a sip of water and scratched his left arm with his right hand when he was nervous. I miss how he tucked my hair behind my ear when it came loose and took my temperature when I was sick or when he was bored. I miss his glasses on my nightstand. I miss watching him take Sunday afternoon naps on my couch, with the newspaper resting on his stomach like a blanket. How his hands stayed clasped, fingers intertwined, while he slept. I miss the cadence of his speech and the stupidity of his puns. I miss playing doctor when we made love, and even when we didn't. I miss his smell, like fresh laundry and honey (because of his shampoo) at his place. Fresh laundry and coconut (because of my shampoo) at mine. I miss that he used to force me to listen to French rap and would sing along in a horrible accent. I miss that he always said "I love you" when he hung up the phone with his sister, never shy or embarassed, regardless of who else was around. I miss that his ideal Friday night included a DVD, eating Chinese food right out of the carton, and cuddling on top of my duvet cover. I miss that he reread books from his childhood and then from mine. I miss that he was the only man that I have ever farted on, and with, freely. I miss that he understood that the holidays were hard for me and that he wanted me to never feel lonely. ~ Julie Buxbaum

Just because I said lyrics are a sign of the inability to sing doesn't mean ... A) I believe that, or B) I don't think they're cool. They are cool. Words are great. I sing along with my favorite songs, but when I am drumming and singing, the words become a note that for me. In the process of playing they have more emotional impact as notes then an actual word. ~ Brian Chippendale

Usually, if I want to just listen to something or sing along to something, I'll put on some Gavin DeGraw or some Billy Joel. Occasionally, if I am feeling vocally in really great shape, I will sing Jean Valjean's soliloquy from 'Les Miz' or something. ~ Josh Young

I never do a show where the people just sit there and look at me. They always sing along. It's going to be a fun time. ~ Estelle Fanta Swaray

A Second Childhood."

When all my days are ending
And I have no song to sing,
I think that I shall not be too old
To stare at everything;
As I stared once at a nursery door
Or a tall tree and a swing.

Wherein God's ponderous mercy hangs
On all my sins and me,
Because He does not take away
The terror from the tree
And stones still shine along the road
That are and cannot be.

Men grow too old for love, my love,
Men grow too old for wine,
But I shall not grow too old to see
Unearthly daylight shine,
Changing my chamber's dust to snow
Till I doubt if it be mine.

Behold, the crowning mercies melt,
The first surprises stay;
And in my dross is dropped a gift
For which I dare not pray:
That a man grow used to grief and joy
But not to night and day.

Men grow too old for love, my love,
Men grow too old for lies;
But I shall not grow too old to see
Enormous night arise,
A cloud that is larger than the world
And a monster made of eyes.

Nor am I worthy to unloose
The latchet of my shoe;
Or shake the dust from off my feet
Or the staff that bears me through
On ground that is too good to last,
Too solid to be true.

Men grow too old to woo, my love,
Men grow too old to wed;
But I shall not grow too old to see
Hung crazily overhead
Incredible rafters w ~ G.K. Chesterton

The phone rang. Joseph darted to pick it up.
"Dyer residence," he answered formally.
"Hold please," he said as he covered the mouthpiece. He really was hilarious. "It's for you, Mara," he said. "And it's a booooy," he sing-songed.
I rolled my eyes but wondered who it could be. "I'm taking it in my room," I said as Joseph erupted in giggles. Horrible. ~ Michelle Hodkin

I am very fortunate to be doing something I completely love, so it is certainly not hard to get motivated. Watching people sing along and put their hands in the air is a very powerful thing. I'm 63, but I don't feel it. I feel like I'm in my 40s. I enjoy life. ~ Bonnie Tyler

I sang 'American Pie' a lot in my stage set. It had a knack of uniting an audience in a sing-along. It's a clever song about American history but wrapped in a fantastic tune. ~ Johnny Vegas

I have the feeling that the magazine can reach many more people than it reaches and has something to offer that not everyone knows who should know it. That's why we're starting an app, and that's why we do the blog. But editorially, I think it's mainly a matter of keeping your eyes peeled. You just really don't know what's going to come along. ~ Lorin Stein

I put on my sunglasses and start to sing "Sixteen Going on Seventeen" from The Sound of Music. "You need someone older and wiser, telling you what to do." I tap him on the nose for emphasis.
"Hey, I'm older than you," he objects.
I run my hand along Peter's cheek and sing, "I am seventeen going on eighteen, I-I-I'll take care of you."
"Promise?" he says.
"Sing it just once for me," I prompt. Peter gives me a look. "Please? I love it when you sing. Your voice is so clean."
He can't help but smile. Peter never met a compliment he didn't smile at. "I don't know the words," he protests.
"Yes you do." I pretend to wave a wand in his face. "Imperio! Wait--do you know what that means?"
"It's…an unforgivable curse?"
"Yes. Very impressive, Peter K. And what does it do?"
"It makes you do things you don't want to do."
"Very good, young wizard. There's hope for you yet. Now sing!"
"You little witch." He looks around to see if anyone is listening, and then he softly sings, "I need someone older and wiser telling me what to do…You are seventeen going on eighteen…I'll depend on you."
I clap my hands in delight. Is there anything more intoxicating than making a boy bend to your will? I roll closer to him and throw my arms around his neck.
"Now you're the one making PDAs!" he says. ~ Jenny Han

If I sing along a little fucking louder to a happy song I'll be alright. ~ Oli Sykes

Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink beneath the lake, The shadows lengthen In Carcosa. Strange is the night where black stars rise, And strange moons circle through the skies But stranger still is Lost Carcosa. Songs that the Hyades shall sing, Where flap the tatters of the King, Must die unheard in Dim Carcosa. Song of my soul, my voice is dead; Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed Shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa. Cassilda's Song in "The King in Yellow," Act i, Scene 2. ~ Anonymous

There is no time like Spring
When life's alive in everything,
Before new nestlings sing,
Before cleft swallows speed their journey back
Along the trackless track. ~ Christina Rossetti

I started to find that music was something that really brought a lot of joy into my life, and it was sort of cool because I discovered that I had a gift for it, too. So the stuff I would listen to I could play along, I could sing along. ~ Corey Taylor

In the Deep South, God is a cotton king,
Trussed up in plantation whites and powdered over smooth
with a little bit of talcum from Momma's compact.
He's the Georgia dust that gets on everything, in everything,
Caking the soles of bare feet
sifting through cracks in church pews,
and catching in your lover's eyelashes.

In the Deep South, the Devil is a beautiful boy
who swears and cheats at billiards on Sunday.
He is the one who reaches up your skirt,
pulls out the prayers your were saving for someday
and lights them on fire with his tongue.
He will sing hymns while feasting on your forfeit heart,
call you blessed while peeling away dignity like stockings,
then drag you out in front of the church to be stoned.

In the Deep South, the Holy Spirit is an old woman
with hands brown and gnarled as the nuts she boils
and a voice soft and dark as the Appalachian sky.
She is the swamp kingdom matriarch children are sent to
when sins need to be wished away like warts,
the presence of whom straightens the spines of wayward souls
and coaxes a "Yes Ma'am" from the devil's own.

In the Deep South, Jesus is a mixed-race child
with drops of destiny mingled into his blood
and the names of the saints tattooed along his spine.
He has his mother's bearing, one that wears suffering nobly,
and baleful eyes that speak of the sins of his forefathers.
S.T. Gibson

I think there's thousands of good songs in the world - the songs that we can all sing along to, songs that are just so catchy they end up being in your head. But I think a great song is something that emotionally engages with you and connects with you. ~ Ella Henderson

Have you ever listened to a song from a long time ago; from your past; a song that was filled with so many memories tied to it, that you felt it so deeply- that it made you cry?

And did you listen to it again, intentionally, for a second time? So you could travel back in time through that song; back when everything seemed so much simpler, basic, carefree?

Those are the songs that are the soundtracks of our lives… the ones that bring back childhood memories, deep feelings, snapshots of our lives (or short videos), best friends, first loves, first heartbreaks… births, deaths.

Our lives are like the record albums that we used to play just a few years ago; just yesterday. We played some of the songs over and over again- to the point of which we can sing along with every word as we play it.

Other songs seem somewhat unfamiliar, as we rarely go back to listen to them; we skip over them or we barely listen to the start of it before we turn off the record player. But just like on a record album and just like in our memories, you can't cut a song out off an album... just like you can't cut out a memory.

The songs and memories remain there, side by side; the good ones, the bad ones, the ones that thrill us and the ones that hurt.

Those are the songs that our lives are composed of. Those are the songs that we chase back, back into our our own memories in our private and personal musical time machines. ~ Jose N Harris

Every Comic-Con, they have some sort of 'Dr. Horrible' panel. It's very cool! ~ Maurissa Tancharoen

A mosquito sings in my ear, and I almost feel grateful for the company. I'm even tempted to sing along. It ~ Markus Zusak

Too broken to belong
too weak to sing along
I'll comfort you my friend
Helping you to
Blow it all away ~ Muse

Listen to the whisper of nature and sing along with love. ~ Debasish Mridha

And if you hear something you know, please sing along. No wait - I take that back - you can't sing along - this is about me now - this is my show. ~ Audra McDonald

Thoughts are not who you are, they're habitual patterns in the mind, nothing more and as soon as you see them that way, they lose their sting. I think of them as the noise of a radio in another room; I can pay attention, sing along with them if I want and also choose to ignore them. ~ Ruby Wax

Because the casual music listeners are the ones who turn on the radio and they don't really care what's playing, they just know that they kinda like it or it's easy to drive to or it's easy to sing along to or whatever. ~ Michael Stipe

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,
While the white foam rises high,
And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,
And fasten the clothes to dry;
Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
Under the sunny sky.

I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls
The stains of the week away,
And let water and air by their magic make
Ourselves as pure as they;
Then on the earth there would be indeed
A glorious washing-day!

Along the path of a useful life
Will heart's-ease ever bloom;
The busy mind has no time to think
Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;
And anxious thoughts may be swept away
As we busily wield a broom.

I am glad a task to me is given
To labor at day by day;
For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,
And I cheerfully learn to say-
"Head, you may think; Heart, you may feel;
But Hand, you shall work always! ~ Louisa May Alcott

It's sort of my fun to sing along with records and imitate people who are on the telephone that have different ways of speaking. ~ Meryl Streep

So walk, or run if you can to your dreams. It doesn't matter if it's far or near. You can pause along the way but never stop, OK? Then hug it when you finally meet it! Embrace the moment. Love it and never let it go. Hold its opportunities and kiss its lessons with full of sincerity. Remember every moment of it - specially - the journey. It is what matters most. ~ Diana Rose Morcilla

I would try and sing along with bands that I like but it sounded so atrocious that I couldn't. ~ Joaquin Phoenix

What makes 'American Pie' so unusual is that it isn't a relic from the counterculture but a talisman, which, like a sacred river, keeps bringing joy to listeners everywhere. When 'American Pie' suddenly is played on a jukebox or radio, it's almost impossible not to sing along. ~ Douglas Brinkley

There was a man whom Sorrow named his Friend,
And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming,
Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming
And humming Sands, where windy surges wend:
And he called loudly to the stars to bend
From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they
Among themselves laugh on and sing alway:
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story.!
The sea Swept on and cried her old cry still,
Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill.
He fled the persecution of her glory
And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping,
Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening.
But naught they heard, for they are always listening,
The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping.
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Sought once again the shore, and found a shell,
And thought, I will my heavy story tell
Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send
Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart;
And my own talc again for me shall sing,
And my own whispering words be comforting,
And lo! my ancient burden may depart.
Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim;
But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone
Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan
Among her wildering whirls, forgetting him. ~ W.B. Yeats

You've got to make your own kind of music, sing your own special song, make your own kind of music, even if nobody else sings along. ~ Cass Elliot

Sometimes I like to play the soundtracks to famous musicals so we can all sing along. South Pacific is one of my favorites. Our neighbors must hate us. ~ Louise Brown

Happy indeed is the naturalist: to him the seasons come round like old friends; to him the birds sing: as he walks along, the flowers stretch out from the hedges, or look up from the ground, and as each year fades away, he looks back on a fresh store of happy memories. ~ John Lubbock

Clarabelle ... Clarabelle ... You worked as Kenspeckle Grouse's assistant, did you not?'
'One of the. He fired all the others.'
'But not you?'
'He fired me on the second day, but I kept coming in. I had nowhere else to go.'
'And then you killed him.'
'Yes.'
'A Remnant squirmed inside you, and you killed Kenspeckle Grouse.'
'Yes.'
Nye grinned. 'You're hired. But I have warn you, if you try to kill me, I will dissect you and sing along to your screams.'
'Can I have Mondays off?'
'You may. ~ Derek Landy

Or drive up to his parents' house, one of you plugging into the car's stereo an outlandish playlist, with which you would both sing along, loudly, being extravagantly silly as adults the way you never were as children. As you got older, you realize that really, there were very few people you truly wanted to be around for more than a few days at a time, and yet here you were with someone you wanted to be around for years, even when he was at his most opaque and confusing. ~ Hanya Yanagihara

She throws away the inedible toast and looks at me, her blue eyes sad. "I'm a bad cook."

My first inclination is to say, "You're just realizing this now?", but I don't. Instead I shrug. "You're good at a lot of other things."

"I can't crochet either."

I purse my lips to keep from agreeing. "Well...you - "

"And I can't sing. I don't even remember the shade of my natural hair color and I've had this outfit since the eighties."

I glance at her red top and tan pants. Yeah. Those should really go - along with a lot of other things in the house. "You're sort of making it hard for me to make you feel better when you keep tossing all the things you aren't good at, at me." I brighten. "You can dance! You're a great dancer."

"I'm having a mid-life crisis."

"You're forty-six," I scoff. "You're too young for that. I mean, maybe in four years... ~ Lindy Zart