Marys Song Oh My My My Quotes

A few years have gone and come around when we were sittin' at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee. Take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle; the whole town came and our mammas cried. And you said "I do.", and I did, too. Take me home where we met so many years before; we'll rock our babies on the very front porch. After all this time, you and I. And I'll be eighty-seven you'll be eighty-nine, I'll still look at you like the stars that shine. In the sky. Oh, my my my. ~ Taylor Swift

'After 17' is a song I wrote when my first daughter went to college, so that's kind of where I'm at in that part of my life. If you listen to that song and knew anything about me, you'd say, 'Oh yeah, he wrote that about his daughter,' but I try not to write them that they are so specific that they wouldn't apply to anybody that has a child. ~ Alan Jackson

My idea of covers is that you should never cover a song and do it exactly like the artist because everyone's always going to compare it to the way the original artists did it, and they're just going to go, 'Oh I like the original better.' ~ Glenn Danzig

This next song is about when you get your heart broken and you try your best to glue it back together and you wake up one morning and you're so happy because you realize, Oh my God, the tape's holding! ~ Sara Quin

Life is a present; life is a miracle.
Life is a song divine.
When you touch my heart, hold my soul.
Oh my pure valentine. ~ Debasish Mridha

The Bear and the Maiden Fair


A bear there was, a bear, a bear!
All black and brown, and covered with hair!
The bear! The bear!
Oh, come, they said, oh come to the fair!
The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!
All black, and brown, and covered with hair!

And Down the road from here to there.
From here! To There!
Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear!
[He] danced and spun, all the way to the Fair!
The Fair! The Fair!

[...]

Oh, sweet she was, and pure, and fair!
The maid with honey in her hair!
Her hair! Her hair!
The maid with honey in her hair!

[The bear,] smelled the scent on the summer air.
The bear! The bear!
All black and brown and covered with hair.
He smelled the scent on the summer air!
He sniffed and roared and smelled it there!
Honey on the summer air!

Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair!
I'll never dance with a hairy bear!
A bear! A bear!
I'll never dance with a hairy bear!
He lifted her high into the air!
The bear! The bear!

I called for a knight, but you're a bear!
A bear! A bear!
All black and brown and covered with hair!
She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,
But he licked the honey from her hair,
Her hair! Her hair!

Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!
My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!
And off they went, from here ~ George R.R. Martin

This world is bursting with life for these few days because the song with which I called it into life still hangs in the air and rumbles in the ground. It will not be so for long. But I cannot tell that to this old sinner, and I cannot comfort him either; he has made himself unable to hear my voice. If I spoke to him, he would hear only growlings and roarings. Oh Adam's sons, how cleverly you defend yourselves against all that might do you good! But I will give him the only gift he is still able to receive. ~ C.S. Lewis

I MEAN not to defend the scapes of any,
Or justify my vices being many;
For I confess, if that might merit favour,
Here I display my lewd and loose behaviour.
I loathe, yet after that I loathe, I run: 5
Oh, how the burthen irks, that we should shun.
I cannot rule myself but where Love please;
Am driven like a ship upon rough seas.
No one face likes me best, all faces move,
A hundred reasons make me ever love. 10
If any eye me with a modest look,
I blush, and by that blushful glance am took;
And she that's coy I like, for being no clown,
Methinks she would be nimble when she's down.
Though her sour looks a Sabine's brow resemble, 15
I think she'll do, but deeply can dissemble.
If she be learned, then for her skill I crave her;
If not, because she's simple I would have her.
Before Callimachus one prefers me far;
Seeing she likes my books, why should we jar? 20
Another rails at me, and that I write,
Yet would I lie with her, if that I might:
Trips she, it likes me well; plods she, what then?
She would be nimbler lying with a man.
And when one sweetly sings, then straight I long, 25
To quaver on her lips even in her song;
Or if one touch the lute with art and cunning,
Who would not love those hands for their swift running?
And her I like that with a majesty,
Folds up her arms, and makes low courtesy. 30
To leave myself, that am in l ~ Ovid

I know that there are going to be people that don't like my music, but I think in the industry itself it is always that, 'Oh. you're from the 'X Factor.' There have been certain radio stations that will not play your song because you are from the 'X Factor,' yet they'll play another song from an artist from another TV show. ~ Olly Murs

A warning tone sounded through the drum, echoing with the distance and the free air. An artificial voice reassured them with its tone while it repeated, 'This is an emergency alert. Report to shelters and await official instructions.'

"Listen," Naomi said. "They're playing our song."

"Oh my," Clarissa said, laughing. "We have lived our lives wrong, haven't we? ~ James S.A. Corey

Keep talking to me," he whispers.
I pause. "Doesn't noise hurt your head?"
Thick lashes cast shadows at the tops of his cheeks. "Your voice isn't noise. It's a song I want to hear over and over."
Oh. My. ~ Kristen Callihan

Well, I can no longer hear the silence." But that's okay, because you are mildly amusing and I am enjoying hearing you ramble on like a Led Zeppelin song. "Oh my God!" "What is it this time?" "Your subtext changed!" Jared's smiles were always ~ Amy Lane

A song of despair


The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.

Deserted like the dwarves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!

Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.

In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.

You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!

It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.

Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!

In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!

You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!

I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.

Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.

Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.

There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.

There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
Pablo Neruda

Whatever you want," he said. "Will you please come here now?"
I slipped a piece of protective tissue over my drawing and flipped the book closed. A piece of blue scratch paper slid out, the line I'd copied from Edward;s poetry book. "Hey. Translate for me, Monsieur Bainbridge."
I set the sketchbook on my stool and joined him on the chaise. He tugged me onto his lap and read over his head. "'Qu'ieu sui avinen, leu lo sai.' 'That I am handsome, I know."
"Verry funny."
"Very true." He grinned. "The translation. That's what it says. Old-fashionedly."
I thought of Edward's notation on the page, the reminder to read the poem to Diana in bed, and rolled my eyes. You're so vain.I bet you think this song is about you..."Boy and their egos."
Alex cupped my face in his hands. "Que tu est belle, tu le sais."
"Oh,I am not-"
"Shh," he shushed me, and leaned in.
The first bell came way too soon. I reluctantly loosened my grip on his shirt and ran my hands over my hair. He prompty thrust both hands in and messed it up again. "Stop," I scolded, but without much force.
"I have physics," he told me. "We're studying weak interaction."
I sandwiched his open hand between mine. "You know absolutely nothing about that."
"Don't be so quick to accept the obvious," he mock-scolded me. "Weak interaction can actually change the flavor of quarks."
The flavor of quirks, I thought, and vaguely remembered something about being charmed. I'd sat ~ Melissa Jensen

My heart races and I look away. "Well I care. So, write it down. For nine weekends and eight thousand dollars, what's yours is mine including your friends." I throw in a little sarcastic eye flutter. "We're going to be so head-over-heels-in-love. I can't wait to see how romantic you are!"
"Oh no. I refuse to be your kind of bumper-sticker-romantic. Don't mistake me for Mr. Darcy."

I gasp. "You don't know Hunger Games or Forks, Washington, but you know Mr. Darcy? Start talking."

"Crap! My grandmother's a fan. She's tortured me since birth with Mr. Darcy. Thanks to her DVD collection, I can quote Jane Austen faster than the Elmo song."

I laugh, surprised again. "Prove it."

"Elizabeth, daaarling!" He's launched into a breathless English accent. "I love, love, love you, and I never want to be parted from you from this day forward. Pardon me, whilst I puke…"

"No way!" I beam. "Let the contract state that I want the Mr. Darcy accent once a week!" I can't help but laugh again because he's shaking his head and laughing back. ~ Anne Eliot

SONG You bound strong sandals on my feet, You gave me bread and wine, And sent me under sun and stars, For all the world was mine. Oh, take the sandals off my feet, You know not what you do, For all my world is in your arms, My sun and stars are you. ~ Sara Teasdale

Oh ... My twitchy witchy girl I think you are so nice, I give you bowls of porridge And I give you bowls of ice-cream. ~ Neil Gaiman

Girl, you're as hot as your temper,
And you won't let me through.
But I think you would be good for me.
I know I'd be good for you.
Oh, but then that night at the lake,
You said we'd be a mistake.
But you're wrong there, honey.
I'm a chance you wanna take.

Do you want me to beg you?
Do you want me to say please?
Then this song is the rest of my pride, girl,
This song is me down on my knees.
Just give in, give in to me, girl.
I'll give you everything I've got.
I won't give up, give up on you, girl,
Till you're giving me a shot.

So go on, pretend you can fight it,
Walk away like I'm not in your head.
Brush me off like I never cross your mind
At night as you lay down in bed.

Till you're giving me a shot.
C'mon, girl, give me a shot,
One shot.
I'll give you everything I've got... ~ Emery Lord

My first experience of that was with my first movie which I did in India. And it was so different from other people. I find that "Oh my God." Every time the music is slow I feel that people are going to get up and go out. You get this nervousness. But, to my surprise, people starting singing the song even before it came in. They started singing along a week later, after release, which was very cool. ~ A.R. Rahman

When I listen to a song, I don't say, 'Oh my gosh, that vocal line she sang was the best thing I ever heard.' I'm thinking, 'That lyric just moves me. That lyric just said what I feel better than I could say it myself.' ~ Taylor Swift

He needs to be talked to."
"This is funny, but I know how to talk, too."
Brian swore under his breath. "He prefers singing."
"Excuse me?"
"I said,he prefers singing."
"Oh." Keeley tucked her tongue in her cheek. "Any particular tune? Wait, let me guess. Finnegan's Wake?" Brian's steely-eyed stare had her laughing until she had to lean weakly against the gelding.The horse responded by twisting his head and trying to sniff her pockets for apples.
"It's a quick tune," Brian said coolly, "and he likes hearing his name."
"I know the chorus." Gamely Keeley struggled to swallow another giggle. "But I'm not sure I know all the words.There are several verses as I recall."
"Do the best you can," he muttered and strode off.His lips twitched as he heard her launch into the song about the Dubliner who had a tippling way.
When he reached Betty's box, he shook his head. "I should've known. If there's not a Grant one place, there's a Grant in another until you're tripping over them."
Travis gave Betty a last pat on the shoulder. "Is that Keeley I hear singing?"
"She's being sarcastic, but as long as the job's done. She's dug in her heels about grooming Finnegan."
"She comes by it naturally.The hard head as well as the skill."
"Never had so many owners breathing down my neck.We don't need them, do we, darling?" Brian laid his hands on Beetty's cheek, and she shook her head, then nibbled his hair.
"Damn horse has a crush on ~ Nora Roberts

Straining to hear, I can make out something acoustic. Coming from...the backyard?

I glance down from my bedroom window and feel my jaw fall open. Matt Finch is standing below my window, guitar strapped across his chest. I pull my window up, and I expect the song from that old movie - the one about a guy with a trench coat and the big radio and his heart on his sleeve.

But it's not that. It's not anything I recognise, and I strain to make out the lyrics: Stop being ridiculous, stop being ridiculous, Reagan.

What an asshole.

The mesh screen and two floors between us don't seem like enough to protect him from my anger.

"Nice apology," I call down to him.
"I've apologised thirteen times," he yells back, "and so far you haven't called me back."

I open my mouth to say it doesn't matter, but he's already redirecting the song.

"Now I'm gonna stand here until you forgive me," he sings loudly, "or at least until you hear me out, la-la, oh-la-la. I drove seven hours overnight, and I won't leave until you come out here."

(...) "This is private property!" My throat feel coarse from how loudly I'm yelling. "And that doesn't even rhyme!"

The guitar chord continues as he sings, "Then call the cops, call the cops, call the cops..."

I storm downstairs, my feet pounding against the staircase. When I turn the corner, my dad looks almost amused from his seat in the recliner. Noticing ~ Emery Lord

I don't get particularly precious about things like this, though. Like the record company said, "We need a radio edit that delivers the hook" - I don't even know what they consider the hook in that song ["Oh No"] - "that delivers the hook sooner." So I'm like, "Okay. I see that." And they were all walking on eggshells, like is this going to be sacrilegious to me or something, to mess with this art I've created? And I'm like, "Great. I get to tinker with it, I get to mess with my song some more." ~ Andrew Bird

A loud song with a thumping beat rang from Jay's pocket. He gave me a goofy grin and began to bop his head back and forth to the rhythm. Oh, no-not the crazy booty dance.
"Please don't," I begged.
Jay broke into his funky ringtone dance, shoulders bouncing and hips moving from side to side. People around us stepped away, surprised, then began to laugh and cheer him on. I pressed my fingers against my lips to hide an embarrassed smile. Just as the ringtone was about to end, he gave a little bow, straightened up, and answered the call. ~ Wendy Higgins

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
Teeth gnashing from a brutal feast
Wolfing down with others; consuming every bite
Eating every poison laid before my sight
I dined upon Iniquity's endless shelf
Blindly feeding, greedily…on myself

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
Expiring with every taste of yeast
Belly puffed and sour with death
A haunting shutter with every breath
Full of nothing but vanity
Dipped in pleasure and tragedy

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
As the West is far from the East
I charted the lust of mine own eyes
Thus, in my folly…I was sure to die
My soul knew nothing of sacrifice
Instead I danced with every vice

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
You found me broken and utterly fleeced
Naked, abandoned and truly alone
You nurtured the wounds to which you sewn
You gave me bread, You sang me a song
And touched my wounds with a loving balm

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
Yet, You taught me wisdom's leash
So I walk with you…dawn through night
Quenched by your fount of love and light
No darkness, no hate not a selfish bone
Can feed this fiend that You've atoned

Oh, I was, but a wounded Beast!
~Jason Neville Versey ~ Jason Versey

I. IN WINTER

Myself
Pale mornings, and
I rise.

Still Morning
Snow air--my fingers curl.

Awakening
New snow, O pine of dawn!

Winter Echo
Thin air! My mind is gone.

The Hunter
Run! In the magpie's shadow.

No Being
I, bent. Thin nights receding.


II. IN SPRING

Spring
I walk out the world's door.

May
Oh, evening in my hair!

Spring Rain
My doorframe smells of leaves.

Song
Why should I stop
for spring?


III. IN SUMMER AND AUTUMN

Sunrise
Pale bees! O whither now?

Fields
I did not pick
a flower.

At Evening
Like leaves my feet passed by.

Cool Nights
At night bare feet on flowers!

Sleep
Like winds my eyelids close.

The Aspen's Song
The summer holds me here.

The Walker
In dream my feet are still.

Blue Mountains
A deer walks that mountain.

God of Roads
I, peregrine of noon.

September
Faint gold! O think not here.

A Lady
She's sun on autumn leaves.

Alone
I saw day's shadow strike.

A Deer
The trees rose in the dawn.

Man in Desert
His feet run as eyes blink.

Desert
The tented autumn, gone!

The End
Yvor Winters

I thought of the words of an old song, a sad song, that I had sung for him once: Oh, my love, I would shatter my own heart a thousand times before I hurt yours. But I had already shattered my own heart, and it had made no difference. ~ Zoe Marriott

Slowly counting down the days
Till I finally know your name
The way your hand feels round my waist
The way you laugh, the way your kisses taste
I missed you but I haven't met you
Oh but I want to
How I do ~ The Civil Wars

I'm made mute by the virtue of decision
And I choose most of your life goes on without me
Oh the fear I've known
That I might reap the praise of strangers and end up on my own
All I've sown was a song
But maybe I was wrong ~ Emily Saliers

Wanna dance?" she asked. "I think they're playing our song."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"The hokey-pokey."

"No shit."

"Sure," she said, "don't you hear it?"

She left her bikini top on, but she removed the bottom and then wrestled off my trunks. She held our suits in one hand and with the other grabbed hold of the horn of plenty.

"Salve work?" she asked.

"Miracle drug," I said

"And how to you do the hokey-pokey?" she asked. "I forget."

"You put your right foot in."

"Right."

"You put your right foot out."

"Good."

"You put your right foot in and you shake it all about."

"Great. What's next?" she asked and kissed me sweetly. "After the foot? ~ Scott Turow

Sometimes I need to reject the music proposed for my songs because the musicians misunderstand that the Fanny Crosby who once wrote for the people in the saloons has merely changed the lyrics. Oh my no. The church must never sing it's songs to the melodies of the world. ~ Fanny Crosby

What is that song that Willie Nelson sang? 'Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few.' I think of that. No big deal. I've reached a stage in my life where I am content. ~ Gabriel Byrne

He laughs and turns up the music so that I can hear it in the back. The speakers blast out: 'Streets like a jungle, so call the police.'

'Call the police,' I smile, 'fuck the police' nodding my head to the beat. The guard turns it up even more.

'Yeah, fuck the police for stitching me up and presenting their dodgy evidence,' I think to myself. Fuck them for getting me put away for seven instead of the four or five I should have got.

A new song comes on and I'm merrily tapping my feet while the guard sings along up front to The Clash.

'Fighting the nation. Police and thieves in the street, oh yeah…Oh yeah! Scaring the nation with their guns and ammunition. Police and thieves in the street. Oh yeah. Fighting the nation with their guns and ammunition'.

Ha ha. The DJ on the radio is on my side. The Securicor men are on my side. And I'm heading back to civilisation and as many drugs as I can get my hands on. Everything's going my way. There must be a song about that, too. ~ Harry Shaw

Are you sorry it happened?" Her fingers clenched as she waited tensely for his answer.
"Good Lord, no." He brought her small fist to his mouth and kissed it open, and flattened her palm against the side of his face. "It's what I've wanted most in my entire life. And the one thing I knew I could never have. I'm surprised. Shocked, even. But never sorry."
Daisy turned and snuggled against him, sandwiching one of his thighs between her own.
The rain beat out a brisk song against the side of the house, some of it coming through the window. Considering the idea of getting out of bed, Daisy shivered a little, and felt Matthew draw the covers higher over her bare shoulder.
"Daisy," he asked without heat, "where is the damn key?"
"I put it in your coat pocket," she said helpfully. "Didn't you see? No?…well, I suppose you were distracted at the time." She trailed her hand over his chest, letting her palm graze the point of his nipple. "You're probably angry with me for locking us in the bedroom."
"Enraged," he agreed. "I insist you do it every night after we're married."
"Are we going to get married?" Daisy whispered, raising her head.
His eyes were warm, but there was no hint of pleasure in his voice. "Yes, we're going to marry. Although you'll probably hate me for it someday."
"Why in the world would I…oh." Daisy remembered what he had told her about the likelihood of his past catching up to him someday. "I could never hate you," ~ Lisa Kleypas

I can destroy a dance floor. I think life should be a musical. I always hate it when people watch a musical and they go, 'Oh, it's so unrealistic, no one just breaks into song in the middle of their day.' Yeah, they do- if they're me. ~ Zachary Levi

You are sad," the Knight said in an anxious tone: "let me sing you a song to comfort you."

"Is it very long?" Alice asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that day.

"It's long," said the Knight, "but it's very, very beautiful. Everybody that hears me sing it - - either it brings the tears into their eyes, or else - - "

"Or else what?" said Alice, for the Knight had made a sudden pause.

"Or else it doesn't, you know. The name of the song is called 'Haddocks' Eyes.'"

"Oh, that's the name of the song, is it?" Alice said, trying to feel interested.

"No, you don't understand," the Knight said, looking a little vexed. "That's what the name is called. The name really is 'The Aged Aged Man.'"

"Then I ought to have said 'That's what the song is called'?" Alice corrected herself.

"No, you oughtn't: that's quite another thing! The song is called 'Ways And Means': but that's only what it's called, you know!"

"Well, what is the song, then? " said Alice, who was by this time completely bewildered.

"I was coming to that," the Knight said. "The song really is 'A-sitting On A Gate': and the tune's my own invention. ~ Lewis Carroll

You do try to write songs that you feel like people can relate to and you try to be as honest as you can so that people hear your records and they feel like, "Oh, my god. This is exactly how I feel. I went through this." ~ Sevyn Streeter

Little do you know
How I'm breaking while you fall asleep
Little do you know
I'm still haunted by the memories
Little do you know
I'm trying to pick myself up piece by piece

Little do you know
I need a little more time

Underneath it all I'm held captive by the hole inside
I've been holding back for the fear that you might change your mind
I'm ready to forgive you but forgetting is a harder fight

Little do you know
I need a little more time
I'll wait, I'll wait
I love you like you've never felt the pain,
I'll wait
I promise you don't have to be afraid,
I'll wait
The love is here and here to stay
So lay your head on me

Little do you know
I know you're hurting while I'm sound asleep
Little do you know
All my mistakes are slowly drowning me
Little do you know
I'm trying to make it better piece by piece

Little do you know
I, I love you 'til the sun dies

Oh wait, just wait
I love you like I've never felt the pain,
Just wait
I love you like I've never been afraid,
Just wait
Our love is here and here to stay
So lay your head on me

I'll wait (I'll wait), I'll wait (I'll wait)
I love you like you've never felt the pain,
I'll wait (I'll wait)
I promise you don't have to be afraid,
I'll wait
The love is here and here to stay
So lay your head on ~ Alex&Sierra

I, too, head for the Baths of Caracalla,
thinking - with my old, magnificent
privilege of thinking ...
(And let there still be a god in me that thinks,
lost, weak, and childish,
yet whose voice is so human
it is almost a song.) Oh, to leave
this prison of poverty!
To be free of the yearning
that makes these ancient nights so splendid!
He who knows yearning, and he who does not,
have something in common: man's desires are humble. ~ Pier Paolo Pasolini

My mother wanted me to learn how to read music. She'd given fiddles to my two older brothers, but they'd rebelled. I came along and my father said, "Oh, let Peter enjoy himself." What she did was leave musical instruments all around the house. Whistles, marimbas, squeeze boxes, a piano and organ. By age six or seven, I could bang out a simple tune on almost anything. I developed a good ear, so I didn't learn to read music until I taught myself at age eighteen, 'cause I was hearing so many good songs I couldn't possibly remember them all. ~ Pete Seeger

I could speak by then, but neither of us thought it my best trick. Very often my exchanges with Ceno went something like:
Sing me a song, Elefsis.
The temperature in the kitchen is 21.5 degrees Celsius and the stock of rice is low. (Long pause.) Ee-eye-ee-eye-oh. ~ Catherynne M Valente

What did you do to make him smile?" "Ah…" Alessandro bit back a grin and cleared his throat. "I might've sung a song." "Really? What song?" "As his mother, I don't think I should repeat it for you," Alessandro said, his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink. "Oh come on, Alessandro. The windows didn't break so you couldn't have done that bad a job." "It's not my ability that I'm referring to," Alessandro replied. Bree narrowed her eyes. "Just what were you singing to my son? And so help me if you say anything by Sir Mix-a-lot I'll castrate you," "Not quite," Alessandro said. "All right. But, remember you asked for it. Your cousin Max, taught it to me." Bree crossed her arms over her breasts and waited. ~ E. Jamie

As the song goes, 'You are lost and gone forever, oh my darling, Valentine.'
[ ... ]
I'm listening to someone give up. Someone I knew. Someone I liked.
I'm listening. But still, I'm too late. ~ Jay Asher

A dam inside my own heart opened up, and the feelings of heaviness and unease lifted like wind against the winter sky. I loved him. I loved his slow wit and his gruff demeanor and his tender disposition. I loved his endless empathy and his world-weary cynicism and his innocence. I loved that he was a walking, breathing paradox. I loved his lank hair and his iron earring and the tooth missing at the back of his mouth. I loved the way he laughed, music incomparable to any song, and the way he smiled, like you could see the child in him and the animal in him and the man in him all at once. I loved that he listened to crappy music, the kind that made me want to put my head through a wall, and I loved the charcoal stains on his knuckles and the pencils he tucked behind his ears. I loved that he told me to shut up as though I could actually say anything. I loved that he made me feel as though I could. I loved his short fingers and his rough palms and his long legs and his flat belly. I loved that he liked to read Kerouac but didn't know how to pronounce Kerouac. I loved his brown skin and his blue tattoos and his tempestuous blue eyes. I loved that he loved the land. I loved him. I loved him. Oh, God. I loved him. ~ Rose Christo

The song she heard from the meadow was the same tune as the bird's call.She looked up in the trees.For a moment she thought she'd lost the bird, and she nearly cried out for him, but he fluttered down,landed right at her feet, and grew into a man."
"Oh." Meg sighed.She'd always liked that part.
"He whistled the tune once more, then the fey man said, 'My lady,will you dance?"
"'I will.' She crossed the bridge to the meadow,and danced with the whistler."
"Tell us they married," Meg said.
"The story doesn't go like that," Poppy reminded.
"It should." Meg stroked Tom's blood-clotted hair.
I fumbled with the charcoal in my blackened fingers. As the story went, the girl danced through the seasons, but when she wandered home at last and reached her cottage door, she was a shriveled-up old women, for a hundred years had passed while she danced with the whistler,and everyone she'd known in her former life had died.
Meg knew how it went.But when our eyes locked, I saw tonight she couldn't bear it. I found another bit of charcoal. "That very spring when the meadow was in bloom,the whistler, who had fey power to transform into a bird and sing any girl he wished to into the wood, chose the one girl who'd followed him so bravely and so far to be his wife. And she lived with him and the fey folk deep in Dragonswood in DunGarrow Castle, a place that blends into the mountainside and cannot be seen with human eyes unless the fairies will it so."
I d ~ Janet Lee Carey

For me songwriting is very ... it's almost like an accident. 'Oh I accidentally wrote about that.' I sit down with the urge to write a song and then afterward it turns out being really personal. I get really overwhelmed by how I feel a lot and sometimes - I feel like my body and my brain can't deal with all the different emotions and I feel like I'm just going to explode. ~ Jessica Lea Mayfield

Oh, Issyk-Kul, my Issyk-Kul
my unfinished song! Why did I have to remember that day when I came here with Asel and stopped on the same rise, right above the water? Everything was the same. The blue-and-white waves ran up the yellow shore holding hands. The sun was setting behind the mountains, and at the far end of the lake the water was tinged with pink. The swans wheeled over the water with excited, exultant cries. They soared up and dropped down on outspread wings that seemed to hum. They whipped up the water and started wide, foaming circles. Everything was the same, only there was no Asel with me. Where are you, my slender poplar in a red kerchief, where are you now? ~ Chingiz Aitmatov

Python opened his eyes. "What do you want?"
"To sing you songs about my awesomeness!"
"Oh, please. Just kill me now."
"Okay!" Apollo drew his bow and shot the snake between the eyes. Then he sang a song about his awesomeness. ~ Rick Riordan

Janx Spirit : Janx Spirit is a rather potent alcoholic beverage, and is used heavily in drinking games that are played in the hyperspace ports that serve the madranite mining belts in the star system of Orion Beta. The game is not unlike the Earth game called Indian Wrestling, and is played like this: Two contestants sit at either side of a table, with a glass in front of each of them. Between them would be placed a bottle of Janx Spirit - as immortalized in that ancient Orion mining song :

"Oh don't give me no more of that Old Janx Spirit
No, don't you give me no more of that Old Janx Spirit
For my head will fly, my tongue will lie, my eyes will fry and I may die
Won't you pour me one more of that sinful Old Janx Spirit"

Each of the two contestants would then concentrate their will on the bottle and attempt to tip it and pour spirit into the glass of his opponent – who would then have to drink it. The bottle would then be refilled. The game would be played again. And again. Once you started to lose you would probably keep losing, because one of the effects of Janx spirit is to depress telepsychic power. As soon as a predetermined quantity had been consumed, the final loser would have to perform a forfeit, which was usually obscenely biological. ~ Douglas Adams