Pacify Her Lyrics Quotes

When I was a teenager, her habit of cramming a bunch of words into one line, plus the way her lyrics tend to start with small particularities and ripple outward into universal truths, lodged itself into my ears and wound up directly on my pages. ~ Meghan Daum

In Paris, Julien's position with regard to Madame de Renal would very soon have been simplified; but in Paris love is the child of the novels. The young tutor and his timid mistress would have found in three or four novels, and even in the lyrics of the Gymnase, a clear statement of their situation. The novels would have outlined for them the part to be played, shown them the model to copy; and this model, sooner or later, albeit without the slightest pleasure, and perhaps with reluctance, vanity would have compelled Julien to follow.

In a small town of the Aveyron or the Pyrenees, the slightest incident would have been made decisive by the ardour of the climate. Beneath our more sombre skies, a penniless young man, who is ambitious only because the refinement of his nature puts him in need of some of those pleasures which money provides, is in daily contact with a woman of thirty who is sincerely virtuous, occupied with her children, and never looks to novels for examples of conduct. Everything goes slowly, everything happens by degrees in the provinces: life is more natural. ~ Stendhal

I like The Erised for the harmony of their addictive beats mix, and I like Allie X for her distinct style and incredible lyrics - they are pure art. ~ Connor Franta

Then his voice resonates over the speakers again. 'A good friend helped me find these lyrics again, and I told her if she ever fell, I'd be there to catch her. She told me if I ever sang this song like I just did, it'd be a success. Well, I'm keeping up my end of the deal. ~ P.K. Hrezo

Concert pianists get to be quite chummy with dead composers. They can't help it. Classical music isn't just music. It's a personal diary. An uncensored confession in the dead of night. A baring of the soul. Take a modern example. Florence and the Machine? In the song 'Cosmic Love,' she catalogs the way in which the world has gone dark, distorting her, when she, a rather intense young woman, was left bereft by a love affair. 'The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out. ~ Marisha Pessl

We have all lived through that shriveling moment when a parent walks into a room and repeats, with sardonic disbelief, a couplet picked up from the stereo or the TV. 'What does that mean, then?' my mother asked me during Top of the Pops. "Get it on / Bang a gong"? How long did it take him to think of that, do you reckon?' And the correct answer - 'Two seconds, and it doesn't matter' - is always beyond you, so you just tell her to shut up, while inside you're hating Marc Bolan for making you like him even though he sings about getting it on and banging gongs. ~ Nick Hornby

She breathes music. Lives it and bleeds it. Her headphones have become her heartbeat. Her lyrics are her life. Music is her outlet of pain, love, and rage. Every note unplayed is another minute unlived. Every song unsung is another moment lost forever. She relies on music to show her the way, make fantasies real and to ease the pain of everyday life. Each day is another chance to create pure artistry. Music is the reason she is who she is...the good and the bad. Her life without it is like a bird without wings or lungs with out air. Life is for the living. Death is for the dead. Her life is her music. Her death will be the note unsaid. ~ -x-Myistic-x

When she awoke there was a melody in her head she could not identify or recall ever hearing before. 'Perhaps I made it up,' she thought. Then it came to her - the name of the song and all its lyrics just as she had heard it many times before. She sat on the edge of the bed thinking, 'There aren't any more new songs and I have sung all the ones there are. I have sung them all. I have sung all the songs there are. ~ Toni Morrison

JAMIE'S SONG 'ONE HALF':

I wish you wouldn't try,
to find me where I hide.
I am fine where I reside,
So please don't follow.

I wish you wouldn't cry,
can't bear that in your eyes.
I am more than terrified.
Please say you won't go.

If I could make two of me,
you would get one half.
But there's only one of me,
and that's more than enough.

I wish you wouldn't want from me,
what I cannot give.
I wish you could be satisfied,
with what you now receive.

There is only one of me,
and I belong to her.
If I live another life,
hope you come before her. ~ Neha Yazmin

The moment that's where I,
Kill the conversation wrap this up a lie that I'm enjoying every minute with myself,
And she could make hell feel just like home,
So I'm never leaving her alone,
But if your lightning lips aren't mine,
Then I don't know the awkward stranger to my right,
( but she's crying ) ~ Pierce The Veil

OUCH

"The arrabal (a term used for poor neighbourhoods in Argentina and Uruguay) and carpa (informal mobile theatre set up inside tents, once common in Latin America), with their caliente (hot) rhythms such as the rumba or the cha-cha-cha, were conquering audiences all over the world, a trend allegorised in song lyrics about their popularity among the French and other non-Latin Americans - "The Frenchman has fun like this/as does the German/and the Irishman has a ball/as does even the Muslim" ("Cachita") - even as they filtered in the presence of a blackness - "and if you want to dance/look for your Cachita/and tell her "Come on negrita"/let's dance" - denied in the official discourse of those Spanish=speaking countries wielding the greatest economic power in the region: namely, Argentina and Mexico, the latter of which would eventually incorporate Afro-Latin American culture into its cinema - although being careful to mark it as Cuban and not Mexican. ~ Robert McKee Irwin

Apart from the sampler, though, I still hadn't heard the songs that were on the short-list for Frank and Amy seemed a bit reticent about letting me listen to them. Maybe she thought lyrics like 'the only time I hold your hand is to get the angle right' might shock me or that I'd embarrass her. I teased her after I'd finally heard the song. 'I want to ask you a question,' I said. 'That song "In My Bed" when you sing - ' 'Dad! I don't want to talk about it! ~ Mitch Winehouse

Adele took her place in front of the audience and began to sing.
"Miss Eyre, perhaps you can tell me what he's saying?" Mrs. Fairfax said. "The only other person in the house who speaks French is the master, and he hates to translate anymore."
Jane glanced at Mr. Rochester, but he stared straight ahead.
Jane listened to the song. "The first few lines are about a famous dancer ... in a club ... She wore flowers in her hair and a dress that ... oh." Adele sang in detail about how much the dress covered. Or didn't cover.
Jane blushed and glanced at Mr. Rochester, searching for a reaction to the scandalous lyrics. But he just listened. Not scandalized.
"So, yes, the dancer wore a dress," Jane continued, with slightly less detail. "And she was in love with a ... dealer. Of cards. And at night, they ... oh my."
Adele sang of a very special hug.
Jane's cheeks flamed. "Perhaps Mr. Rochester should translate."
She turned to Mr. Rochester, who coughed. He waved his hand. "Please continue, Miss Eyre. You're doing such a fine job."
Now Adele sang of the woman's roving eye, and another man visiting while her lover was away.
"They continued to love each other," Jane said quickly, maybe a bit desperately.
In the last verse, the boyfriend found out about her infidelity, and stabbed the dancer and her other lover.
"That escalated quickly," said Helen. She also spoke French, but no one had asked her to translate.
"And they both l ~ Cynthia Hand

His eyes are cold and restless
His wounds have almost healed
And she'd give half of Texas
Just to change the way he feels
She knows his love's in Tulsa
And she knows he's gonna go
Well it ain't no woman flesh and blood
It's that damned old rodeo


Well it's bulls and blood
It's dust and mud
It's the roar of a Sunday crowd
It's the white in his knuckles
The gold in the buckle
He'll win the next go 'round
It's boots and chaps
It's cowboy hats
It's spurs and latigo
It's the ropes and the reins
And the joy and the pain
And they call the thing rodeo


She does her best to hold him
When his love comes to call
But his need for it controls him
And her back's against the wall
And it's So long girl I'll see you
When it's time for him to go
You know the woman wants her cowboy
Like he wants his rodeo ~ Garth Brooks

She slowly began to hum her personal favorite,not even realizing when instinctively she began to sing the lyrics:"hush,little baby,don't say a word.If that mockingbird don't sing,papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.If that diamond ring don't" "Do me a favor.Pretend you're that mockingbird and shut up" one angry,bloodshot eye glared at her. "I was just trying to help" "Help what? bring down the walls of the hut with your screeching? ~ Jill Barnett

The Ballad of Lucy Jordan
The morning sun touched lightly on the eyes of Lucy Jordan
In a white suburban bedroom in a white suburban town
As she lay there 'neath the covers dreaming of a thousand lovers
Till the world turned to orange and the room went spinning round.

At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair.
So she let the phone keep ringing and she sat there softly singing
Little nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair.

Her husband, he's off to work and the kids are off to school,
And there are, oh, so many ways for her to spend the day.
She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through the shady street screaming all the way.

At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair
So she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair.

The evening sun touched gently on the eyes of Lucy Jordan
On the roof top where she climbed when all the laughter grew too loud
And she bowed and curtsied to the man who reached and offered her his hand,
And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the crowd.

At the age of thirty-seven she knew she'd found forever
As she rode along t ~ Marianne Faithfull

I don't really like this song," Emma had said.
"You told me it was your favourite."
"It's beautiful. But it always makes me sad."
"Why, love?" he'd asked gently. "It's about finding each other again. About someone coming home."
Emma had lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him earnestly. "It's about losing someone, and having to wait until you're together in heaven."
"There's nothing in the lyrics about heaven," he'd said.
"But that's what it means. I can't bear the idea of being separated from you, for a lifetime or a year or even a day. So you mustn't go to heaven without me."
"Of course not," he had whispered. "It wouldn't be heaven without you. ~ Lisa Kleypas

When hip-hop was born she had no commercial home, and was an invention of beautiful creativity. Born from a beautiful struggle, today she is mostly a 'ratchet' bitch spitting nonsense from her pimp's mansion. ~ T.F. Hodge

I have not, in general, much belief in the ability of woman as a creative artist. Unwritten lyrics, as [Ralph Waldo] Emerson said once when we conversed on this subject, should be her forte. ~ Fredrika Bremer

Poetry and song lyrics might want us to believe that finding love is like uncovering buried treasure, but now I know the truth. There's no joy or celebration in love. There are no happy endings. There is simply me and her and a crushing pain. What's left after that? An entire life of mute should-haves and second-bests. ~ Autumn Doughton

I first bought a Buffy Sainte-Marie record when I was 12, and her music has always remained with me. In the 1960s, as a political activist, Buffy's lyrics were fearless, and I'm very grateful for all the risks that she took. ~ Morrissey

Her happiness floated like waves of ocean along the coast of her life. She found lyrics of her life in his arms but she never sung her song. ~ Santosh Kalwar

What have they done to the earth?
What have they done to our fair sister?
Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit her
Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn
And tied her with fences and dragged her down ~ Jim Morrison

Remember to let her into your heart. ~ John Lennon

The Avalanche," peacemaker Rachel recites, "is very important. It's a privilege to sing it. It's a celebration of our past." Everybody around the table smiles at her.
"Yeah? Well, I've seen how easily the past can get rewritten." I glare at Mr. Oamaru. "Lyrics change. New authors come along. ~ Karen Russell

Sweet Grace amazes me
The way that she can see
Beyond the man I am
To the man that I could be
She's bringing out my best
While she covers all the rest
Some say her love is blind
But I say her love forgets

She don't like it when I try so hard to impress her
'Cause when I do that, it's a lie that makes her love look the lesser
The truth is I know

I'll never be, I'll never be good enough
I'll never deserve her love
I'll never be, I'll never be good enough for Grace
But she takes me anyway

I am the cheatin' kind
But she's changing my mind
The way she takes me back
Though I fail her every time
She's got friends who tell her that she
Is much too good for me
Well, I've told her that myself
But she refuses to leave

I'd like to think my strength won her affection
But the truth is it was my weakness that caught her attention
I'm grateful to know

When my tears fall down like rain
She wipes them from my face
She tells me that I'm lovely
And if I am, it's all because of Grace
This love turns my inside out
And my world upside down
Grace is changing me ~ Jason Gray

... that same hardware and tackle shop his dad got lost in for hours while Kache waited in the truck, writing lyrics on the backs of old envelopes his mom kept in the glove compartment for blotting her lipstick. Kache had written around the red blooms of her lip prints. ~ Sere Prince Halverson

See, I never wrote arrangements for the band for Judy Garland; I did strictly special material, special lyrics, put together all of her medleys. ~ Mel Torme

I had Madonna parties; I dressed like Madonna, and I had all of her records because we had records back then. I knew all of her lyrics; I was obsessed with her movies and the whole thing. ~ Judy Greer

And I'm a bad boy 'cause I don't even miss her. I'm a bad boy for breakin her heart ~ Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers

What she read was a series of short connected lyrics, "Isis in Darkness." The Egyptian Queen of Heaven and Earth was wandering in the Underworld, gathering up pieces of the murdered and dismembered body of her lover Osiris. At the same time, it was her own body she was putting back together; and it was also the physical universe. She was creating the universe by an act of love. ~ Margaret Atwood

Who Knew I'd Make Her So Blue. ~ Kathleen Glasgow

Pretend mic in hand, she danced into the bedroom, singing Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy." She executed a few dance steps she'd read about in books on modern dance. Losing herself to the groove of the music, she swayed and gyrated as she belted out the lyrics. She toed off her shoes and shimmied out of her jeans, bending to slip them over her feet...
"I'm thinking this is a sight and a sound I could get used to. ~ Vonnie Davis

I believe a writer is...the scribe-griot of his/her nation. S/he has the power to incite, ignite, excite, pacify, edify, motivate and eliminate others with the slash of a pen, click of a mouse or swipe of a finger. Though coloured by time, class, age, geography, childhood and other factors, a writer crystallises a slice of his/her society's culture, mores and its dark and light truths. A writer makes everything real. ~ Sandra Sealy

All we shared was a mattress, and a lie, and an address
Baby I don't need you, well baby I don't need you
Once occupied by a goddess, now it's a room full of boxes
She said, "it's time to leave you" but baby I don't need you!
In a perfect world ... her face would not exist
In a perfect world ... a broken heart is fixed ~ Billy Talent

When I collaborated with Nelly Furtado, the idea for the song structure came from myself, but the lyrics and the ideas behind the songs came from her. ~ Paul Oakenfold

I fell for her in summer, my lovely summer girl,
From summer she is made, my lovely summer girl,
I'd love to spend a winter with my lovely summer girl,
But I'm never warm enough for my lovely summer girl,
It's summer when she smiles, I'm laughing like a child,
It's the summer of our lives; we'll contain it for a while
She holds the heat, the breeze of summer in the circle of her hand
I'd be happy with this summer if it's all we ever had. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

My lady," Sebastian murmured, resting one hand at
the small of her corseted back. Regarding Haldane with a slight smile, he continued to speak to Evie. "It seems I'll have to warn you, my love... this gentleman is a wolf in sheep's clothing."
Although Evie would have expected the elderly man to take offense at such a remark, Haldane chuckled with pleasure, his vanity flattered. "If I were twenty years younger, my impudent fellow, I would steal her away from you. Despite your much-vaunted charm, you are no match for what I was then."
"Age hasn't tamed you a whit," Sebastian replied with a grin, drawing Evie away from him. "Pardon us, my lord, while I remove my wife from safer territory."
"It is obvious that this elusive fellow has been caught firmly in your snare," Haldane told Evie. "Go, then, and pacify his jealous temperament."
"I... I will try," Evie said uncertainly. For some reason both men laughed, and Sebastian kept his hand on Evie's back as they left the main room. ~ Lisa Kleypas

They call her love, love, love, love, love. She is love, and she is all I need. ~ Parachute Band

Every time I look down on this timeless town
Whether blue or gray be her skies.
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears,
More and more do I realize:
I love Paris in the springtime.
I love Paris in the fall.
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.
I love Paris every moment,
Every moment of the year.
I love Paris, why, oh why do I love Paris?
Because my love is near. ~ Cole Porter

She put him out like the burning end of a midnight cigarett.
She broke his heart.
He spent his whole life trying to forget.
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time.
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind until the night.
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger.
And finally drank away her memory.
Life is short but this time it was bigger,
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees.
We found him with his face down in the pillow.
With a note that said: I love her til' I die.
And when we buried him beneath the willow,
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby.
La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la.
La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la.
The rumors flew,
But nobody knew how much she blamed herself for years and years.
She tried to hide the whiskey on her breath.
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time,
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind until the night.
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger.
And finally drank away his memory.
Life is short but this time it was bigger,
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees.
We found her with her face down in the pillow.
Clinging to his picture for dear life.
We laid her next to him beneath the willow,
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby.
La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la.Brad Paisley

Love Sadness Song Lyrics Tragety