| Author |
Quotes |
| Alexander Pope | But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain. The wond'ring forests soon should dance again, The moving mountains hear the powerful call. And headlong streams hand listening in their fall! |
| Alexander Pope | But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain. The wond'ring forests soon should dance again; The moving mountains hear the powerful call. And headlong streams hand listening in their fall! |
| Bob Dylan | Hey! Mr. Tamborine Man, play a song for me. I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to. |
| George Farquhar | I see you have a singing face--a heavy, dull, sonata face. |
| Nathaniel Hawthorne | So she poured out the liquid music of her voice to quench the thirst of his spirit. |
| Ossian | O Carril, raise again thy voice! let me hear the song of Selma, which was sung in my halls of joy, when Fingal, king of shields, was there, and glowed at the deeds of his fathers. |
| Owen Feltham | When I but hear her sing, I fare Like one that raises, holds his ear To some bright star in the supremest Round; Through which, besides the light that's seen There may be heard, from Heaven within, The rests of Anthems, that the Angels sound. |
| Paul Laurence Dunbar | Y'ought to hyeah dat gal a-warblin' Robins, la'ks an' all dem things Heish de mouffs an' hides dey faces When Malindy sings. |
| Percy Bysshe Shelley | Sing again, with your dear voice revealing A tone Of some world far from ours, Where music and moonlight and feeling Are one. |
| William B Rhodes | You know you haven't got a singing face. |
| William S Gilbert | Then they began to sing That extremely lovely thing, "Scherzando! ma non troppo, ppp." |
| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | He the sweetest of all singers. |
| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Sang in tones of deep emotion Songs of love and songs of longing. |
| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again. |
| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | They sing, they will pay. |
| John Milton | Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium. |
| John Milton | Or did the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek. |
| John Dryden | At every close she made, th' attending throng Replied, and bore the burden of the song, So just, so small, yet in so sweet a note, It seemed the music melted in the throat. |
| Ralph Waldo Emerson | Olympian bards who sung Divine ideas below, Which always find us young And always keep us so. |
| William Shakespeare | Every night he comes With musics of all sorts, and songs composed To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us To chide him from our eaves, for he persists As if his life lay on't. |
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