Song For Sarah Quotes

I thought this pain would leave when I remembered that I had choices. But choices make it worse than ever. Choices don`t help at all, because this new person doesn`t know HOW to make choices. This new person has no skills at all. ~ Paula Darcy

My father believed it was a cancerous lump, not because my mother was genetically prone to such a thing, but because he was looking out for the saboteur of his wonderful life. ~ Sarah Winman

A Drinking Song Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh. ~ W.B.Yeats

For Himme, the cumulative effect of the cumulative listening to the cumulative song was cumulatively distressing. ~ Etgar Keret

That night, it wasn't Dobie Gray," I whispered. "It was this song. It was Ella Mae singing this to me when I thought you weren't all I knew you to be, which is all the words to this song. Twenty-nine years, I held out for this. Then, half an hour later, you proved every one of these words true and every moment since then, you kept doing it. I'll take you thinking I'm your angel but you need to know you're my hero. Twenty-nine, honey, I held out for this. Twenty-nine years, I held out for you. ~ Kristen Ashley

Total commitment," I said. "You know, the idea of discovering something that, for all intents and purposes, goes against your abilities, and yet still deciding to do it anyway. That takes guts, you know? ~ Sarah Dessen

I close my eyes
Only for a moment,
then the moment's gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes, a curiosity...

Same old song
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do
Crumbles to the ground,
though we refuse to see...

Now, don't hang on
Nothing lasts forever
but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money
won't another minute buy...

Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind."

(Kansas guitarist Kerry Livgren wrote this after reading a book of Native American poetry. The line that caught his attention was "For All We Are Is Dust In The Wind.") ~ Kansas (band)

I would love to make a bunch of country demos and write country songs for really great country singers. ~ Kathleen Hanna

My father referred to it as "the finest song ever written for fifteen fingers." He made me play it when I was getting too full of myself and felt I needed humbling. Suffice to say I practice it with fair regularity, sometimes more than once a day. ~ Patrick Rothfuss

I didn't mean for you to take that the wrong way," He said abruptly. Mae stared at him in amazement. So, for that matter, did Jamie.
"What?"
"Demons don't touch anyone without a reason," Nick went on, his eyes shut again. "You can imagine what kind of reasons we usually have. I don't like
not anyone
I didn't mean anything by it."
"Oh," said Jamie. "Oh, that's okay! That's fine. I understand. I am filled to the brim with understanding and, and acceptance! I'm very Zen like that. ~ Sarah Rees Brennan

Disquiet and desire. What you want and what you're scared to try for. Where you've been and where you want to go. Something in a rock-and-roll song about wanting the girl, the car, the place to stand and be. Oh please God can you dig it. ~ Stephen King

[My mum] was always like that: grateful for life itself. Her glass was not only half full, it was gold plated with a permanent refill. ~ Sarah Winman

But we spend all our lives looking for puzzle pieces that will give us a clearer picture of ourselves, of where we're supposed to go and who we're supposed to be. ~ Sarah Addison Allen

The May sunshine makes both the trolls and the elves disappear, he thought. They burst like soap bubbles. Only human beings remain, for a little while. We are a brief song beneath the sky, laughter in the wind that ends in a sigh. Then we too are gone. ~ Johan Theorin

Kizzy wanted to be a woman who would dive off the prow of a sailboat into the sea, who would fall back in a tangle of sheets, laughing, and who could dance a tango, lazily stroke a leopard with her bare foot, freeze an enemy's blood with her eyes, make promises she couldn't possibly keep, and then shift the world to keep them. She wanted to write memoirs and autograph them at a tiny bookshop in Rome, with a line of admirers snaking down a pink-lit alley. She wanted to make love on a balcony, ruin someone, trade in esoteric knowledge, watch strangers as coolly as a cat. She wanted to be inscrutable, have a drink named after her, a love song written for her, and a handsome adventurer's small airplane, champagne-christened Kizzy, which would vanish one day in a windstorm in Arabia so that she would have to mount a rescue operation involving camels, and wear an indigo veil against the stinging sand, just like the nomads.
Kizzy wanted. ~ Laini Taylor

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me ~ Christina Rossetti

I told them this was their language, this English, this most marvellous and expressive cloak of meaning and imagination. This great, exclamatory, illuminating song, it belonged to anyone who found it in their mouths. There was no wrong way to say it, or write it, the language couldn't be compelled or herded, it couldn't be tonsured or pruned, pollarded or plaited, it was as hard as oaths and as subtle as rhyme. It couldn't be forced or bullied or policed by academics; it wasn't owned by those with flat accents; nobody had the right to tell them how to use it or what to say. There are no rules and nobody speaks incorrectly, because there is no correctly: no high court of syntax. And while everyone can speak with the language, nobody speaks for the language. Not grammars, not dictionaries. They just run along behind, picking up discarded usages. This English doesn't belong to examiners or teachers. All of you already own the greatest gift, the highest degree this country can bestow. It's on the tip of your tongue. ~ A.A. Gill

Norman was never one for exactness, exactly. ~ Sarah Dessen

And here I was, thinking that all the ladies were out so early for Roland and me. When all of them catch a vicious cold, I'll let their fathers know that you're to blame. ~ Sarah J. Maas

The reader's feedback is the muse for great written works of art. ~ Sarah Scott

... 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

I love a good pop song. I have no problem with the concept of doing that sort of thing. For me, it's usually what I'm inspired by, what I'm thinking about. ~ Jon Foreman

It was really hard to do that at first. You have been holding onto this thing - even though you know what someone has done before and you have faith in what they can achieve - it's just a matter of whether that's gonna be right for you. At first you do need to be quite protective; to make sure it's going down the right track, so I was pretty nervous to begin with. ~ Sarah Blasko

I feel like Twitter was tailor-made for me, because I can do short spurts all day long. I loved my blog, but doing daily, then thrice weekly entries was really time consuming. 140 characters is perfect. ~ Sarah Dessen

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

One of the things that defines a country song for me is that it's honest. It's not putting on a tuxedo to go eat at the Burger King. It's about a song being emotionally true to itself. ~ Kristian Bush

I was reading voraciously about global issues such as clean water, community development, war, human trafficking, economics, disaster relief, the AIDS crisis, unjust systemic evil. Meanwhile, church budgets made room for a brand-new light show and a kickin' sound system or a trip to Disneyland or a video venue in a saturated upscale neighborhood - all in an effort to practice creative-experience marketing. ~ Sarah Bessey

If with a sweeping heart I sow firstly this seeds,
If too dearly deeds I give arms long,
That will make tomorrow a better day to gift infancy's years the sunshine song,
For none cause, then has a better bottom than smiles of youth, ~ Mpho Leteng

Her soul felt at rest, for now she knew the true power of love, the unbending strength of loyalty, and the eternal beauty of forgiveness. (page 338) ~ Sarah E. Ladd

Would you sing for me ?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Likely not. But it does not change the desire. ~ Sarah MacLean

There is a moment that has happened over and over again, in every place children have ever slept, on every dark night for the past ten thousand years, that almost everyone who was once a child will forever remember. It happens when you are being tucked into bed, on a dark and frightened night when the sounds of the nighttime outside are drowned out only by the far more frightening sounds in your head. You have already gone to bed, have tried to go to bed, but because of whatever sounds you hear in your head you have failed to go to bed, and someone much older than you, someone so old that you cannot even imagine yourself becoming that old, has come to sit beside you and make sure you fall asleep. But the moment that everyone who was once a child will remember is not the story the unfathomably old person tells you, or the lullaby he sings for you, but rather the moment right after the story or song has ended. You are lying there with your eyes closed, not sleeping just yet but noticing that the sounds inside your head seem to have vanished, and you know, through closed eyes, that the person beside you thinks that you are asleep and is simply watching you. In that fraction of an instant between when that person stops singing and when that person decides to rise from the bed and disappear -- a tiny rehearsal, though you do not know it yet, of what will eventually happen for good -- time holds still, and you can feel, through closed eyes, how that person, watching your still, sma ~ Dara Horn

No singer would ever make a song about that battle. No maester would ever write down an account for one of the Reader's beloved books. No banners flew, no warhorns moaned, no great lord called his men about him to hear his final ringing words. They fought in the predawn gloom, shadow against shadow, stumbling over roots and rocks, with mud and rotting leaves beneath their feet. ~ George R R Martin

The father was dry-eyed but the mother kept erupting, like loudly, unprovoked, in a keening foreign wail that was almost like song; it sounded strangely ceremonial and impersonal, like a lament for an idea. Walter went alone to the morgue, without any idea. His love was resting beneath a sheet on a gurney of an awkward height, too high to be knelt by. Her hair was as ever, silky and black and thick, as ever, but there was something wrong with her jaw, some outrageously cruel and unforgivable injury, and her forehead, when he kissed it, was colder than any just universe could have allowed such a young person's forehead to be. The coldness entered him through his lips and didn't leave. What was over was over. His delight in the world had died, and there was no point in anything. ~ Jonathan Franzen

I want to do a stripped-down album. That style is actually where my heart is - storytelling and just letting the voice and the lyrics talk for themselves. I still want to write the perfect song and sing it in the most honest, undressed way. But I feel like I have to gather more experiences and more layers in my voice. I have to live more to be able to tell this tale. So I'm saving my folk record. I have a feeling nobody will understand it. ~ Lykke Li

'Santa Monica' was a big song, and I always knew it would be radio friendly. But it's not a defining song for me, though for a lot of people it is. ~ Art Alexakis

"Chaol. You sacrificed yourself. You let them put that collar on you - so he could get out"
"I'm going to let them put a collar on you , and we can play." There was nothing human in that face, no memory in those sapphire eyes. Aelin began to weep, even as blood leaked down her nose from his nearness. "i came back for you. Just like i promised."
"I don't care." Dorian said. ~ Sarah J. Maas

and, sometimes,
from a lifetime ago
and another country
such a willing and lilting companion -

a song
made so obviously for me.
At what unknowable cost.
And by a stranger. ~ Mary Oliver

When the creation was new and all the stars shone in their first splendour, the gods held their assembly in the sky and sang `Oh, the picture of perfection! the joy unalloyed!'

But one cried of a sudden---`It seems that somewhere there is a break in the chain of light and one of the stars has been lost.'

The golden string of their harp snapped, their song stopped, and they cried in dismay---`Yes, that lost star was the best, she was the glory of all heavens!'

From that day the search is unceasing for her, and the cry goes on from one to the other that in her the world has lost its one joy!

Only in the deepest silence of night the stars smile and whisper among themselves---`Vain is this seeking! unbroken perfection is over all! ~ Rabindranath Tagore

When I play stuff for my wife she'll be like, "No, not that song. No way." ~ Walter Martin

Well, it's always, though, safer in politics to avoid risk. To just kind of go along with the status quo. But I didn't get into government to do the safe and easy things. A ship in harbor is safe, but that's not why the ship is built. Politics isn't just a game of competing interests and clashing parties. The people of America expect us to seek public office and to serve for the right reasons. And the right reason is to challenge the status quo and to serve the common good. ~ Sarah Palin

She thought she was getting out of the Water Rising clean, because she didn't see her father anywhere around: there was only Ash and Lillian sitting at a table, and a few other patrons at as much of a distance from Ash and Lillian as they could get. She made for the door, at which point Lillian caught her arm.

"Where are you going?"

"Uh," said Kami, eyeballing her wildly. "I'm going to buy some drugs."

Lillian stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"This is a really stressful time for everyone," said Kami. "So I thought maybe I could buy a little weed, take the edge off. I might be a while. This is a very clean-living town, apart from all the murders, so I don't actually know any drug dealers. I realize Jared kind of looks like one, but he's not, which is a shame because I think the drug dealer's girlfriend gets her drugs free."

"I realize you are attempting to be humorous," said Lillian, after a pause during which she stared some more. "I don't understand it."

"Hey, you're not the only family with a legacy. 'Glass' rhymes with 'sass.' Have you met my dad?"

"I have had that dubious pleasure," said Lillian. "He is, in fact, meant to be meeting me in order to, and I quote, 'teach me to integrate better with society, display leadership skills, win over the populace, and stop acting like a robot princess from space.' I admit that the humor in his humor escapes me as well." She paused and suddenly looked determined ~ Sarah Rees Brennan

My sisters had been living in the House of Wind since they'd arrived in Velaris.
They did not leave the palace built into the upper parts of a flat-topped mountain overlooking the city. They did not ask for anything, or anyone.
So I would go to them.
Lucien was waiting in the sitting room when Rhys and I came downstairs at last, my mate having given the silent order for them to return.
Unsurprisingly, Cassian and Azriel were casually seated in the dining room across the hall, eating lunch and marking every single breath Lucien emitted. Cassian smirked at me, brows flicking up.
I shot him a warning glare that dared him to comment. Azriel, thankfully, just kicked Cassian under the table.
Cassian gawked at Azriel as if to declare I wasn't going to say anything while I approached the open archway into the sitting room, Lucien rising to his feet. ~ Sarah J. Maas

We are sisters. We will always be sisters. Our differences may never go away, but neither, for me, will our song. ~ Elizabeth Fishel

If you must push yourself beyond your limits, push yourself hard enough for success. ~ Sarah Van Waterschoot

So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent ... and right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner. ~ Suzanne Collins

There is no formula to it because writing every song, for me, is a little journey. The first note has to lift you and make you go, 'What's this?' You play C, but why is it that one day it leads to G and it didn't yesterday? I don't know. It's everything. It's the walk you take in the morning, it's the night before, the meeting with people, landscapes, the chats, all of that evolves in some way into melody, but I'm not sure how it's going to happen. I'm dealing with the unknown all the time and that is exciting. ~ Enya

When we start to write for a new record, we never really know what we're doing. We don't come into the room with a set of ideas, but miraculously, a song comes out of it. ~ Vince Clarke

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

We must live for the few who know and appreciate us, who judge and absolve us, and for whom we have the same affection and indulgence. The rest I look upon as a mere crowd, lively or sad, loyal or corrupt, from whom there is nothing to be expected but fleeting emotions, either pleasant or unpleasant, which leave no trace behind them. ~ Sarah Bernhardt

Poetry for me is a result of lyrical meditation, pre-verbal in origin, and much of the craft has to do with finding a contemporary diction that embodies, at times subverts but never betrays that pre-verbal lyrical source: the presence of song before it is sung. ~ John Allison