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“The woods would be quiet if no bird sang but the one that sang best.”
― Henry van Dyke

“I could write about how I feel when I sing, write and create something from heartbreak, sorrow, sadness or just simply nothingness. How nothingness can become the most beautiful, unexplainable feeling that makes you forget about gravity for an hour.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles: in search for The Great Perhaps

“Then the musical instruments appeared. Dad’s snare drum from the house, Henry’s guitar from his car, Adam’s spare guitar from my room. Everyone was jamming together, singing songs: Dad’s songs, Adam’s songs, old Clash songs, old Wipers songs. Teddy was dancing around, the blond of his hair reflecting the golden flames. I remember watching it all and getting that tickling in my chest and thinking to myself: This is what happiness feels like.”
― Gayle Forman, If I Stay

“Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sakes. Now, I mean, I'm talking about singing in the shower, I'm talking about dancing to the radio, I'm talking about writing a poem to a friend--a lousy poem.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

“The night seemed suddenly defiled by the absence of music, as if the silence itself was injecting a sickness that only another song could cure.”
― Jake Vander Ark, The Accidental Siren

“Now, I normally do not like it when people sing near me, much less at me. I don't care if they're good, bad, or mediocre. It's all the same. Unless you're signed to a major label with music I can find on iTunes, I don't want to hear your live performance. It's why I can't watch American Idol. I keep worrying the contestants will mess up and be embarrassed, and then I'll be embarrassed for them.”
― Lauren Morrill, Meant to Be

“She sang that night like - I cannot say like an angel, for her songs were all of champagne suppers and strolling in the Burlington Arcade; perhaps, then, like a fallen angel - or yet again like a falling one: she sang like a falling angel might sing with the bounds of heaven fresh burst behind him, and hell still distant and unguessed. And as she did so, I sang with her - not loudly and carelessly like the rest of the crowd, but softly, almost secretly, as if she might hear me the better if I whispered rather than bawled.”
― Sarah Waters, Tipping the Velvet

“They staggered and stumbled, wounded but triumphant, singing the old Welsh folk song “Ar Lan y Môr.â€� And if there was something odd about returning from battle singing about lilies, rosemary, rocks, and—for some reason he’d never fathomed—eggs, of all things, by the sea, well, then the three of them made it sound pretty good and only he and Beauclaire knew Welsh.”
― Patricia Briggs, Fair Game

“We sing because we can't speak anymore.”
― Kristen Chenoweth

“The music had ceased. Alex walked over to the gramophone, wound it up again, and put on more blues, a woman singing this time, gay and sad at once, like a stranded angel who had traded holiness for humanity but remembered what it used to be like to know God.”
― Barbara Hambly, Bride of the Rat God

“She had a woman’s swagger at twelve-and-a-half. Hair: strawberry-blonde, and I vaguely recall a daisy in the crook of her ear. She was an inch taller than me, two with the ponytail; smooth cheeks and darling brown eyes that marbled in luscious contrast with her magnolia skin; cream, melting to peach, melting to pink. She beamed like a cherub without the baby fat; a tender neck; pristine lips that would never part for a dirty word. Her body--of no interest to me at the time--was wrapped from neck to toes with home-made footie pajamas, the kind they make for toddlers, but I didn’t laugh; the girl filled that silly one-piece ensemble as if it were couture.”
― Jake Vander Ark, The Accidental Siren

“حيثما سأموت، سأموت وأنا أغني.”
― Vladimir Mayakovsky

“Neruda had his first dream,
First meeting with the Moon and the Sun
In sunny La Mancha, hiding in his heart,
Where he learned how to sing like a nightingale.”
― Dejan Stojanovic

“I'd rather you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but i know you'll go after birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.....

Mockingbirds don't do one thing to but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's garden, don't nest in corncribs,they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
― Harper Lee

“Sing before the spirits and dance with the earth deities
And you will be able to compose your own tune.
Then you and I, united, will clap hands joyously,
Singing 'tum-tiddly-um tum-tiddly-um-tum.”
― Hongzhi Zhengjue

“When a group of people sing together, we make up a chorus. When birds do, it's more like a whole symphony orchestra.”
― Laura Erickson, The Bird Watching Answer Book: Everything You Need to Know to Enjoy Birds in Your Backyard and Beyond

“It was nothing like Roxanne singing, where it seemed that everyone's heart would have to wait until she finished before it could beat again.”
― Ann Patchett, Bel Canto

“I felt my mouth go dry, my throat constrict. What possible interpretation could Peter place on those words, other than that they were about him? - that the entire song was about him?”
― Jennifer Paynter, Mary Bennet

“I wish that life could be carefree, sunny, never cloudy- But you said that I would be in Your arms when things get crazy- so when the storm doesn't go away- I have decided to sing in the rain.”
― Moriah Peters

“New Song"
For You, Manuelita

Inside the Horizon
SOMEONE WAS SINGING

The voice
Is not known
WHERE DOES IT COME FROM

Among the branches
No one is to be seen

The moon itself was an ear

And one hears

no sound

However

a star unnailed
Has fallen into the pond

THE HORIZON

HAS CLOSED UP

And there is no exit”
― Vicente Huidobro, The Cubist Poets in Paris: An Anthology

“Gavin stood within the trees, observing her from the shadows. He watched the basket rise to her nose as she closed her eyes to sniff at its contents. A smile told him it smelled delicious, but she didn’t open the container to pinch off a sample. Instead, the basket lowered to swing at her side as it had previously done.

All at once the air was filled with soft singing--a sweet, merry tune comprised of ludicrous lyrics. It was impossible not to grin at the words.

“Rainbows paint the sky ‘til the sun melts their colors.
Swinging in the wind, whiskered cattails purr.
The pigs gallop by and snort at the moon,
While frogs kiss the lizards and princesses too.â€�”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, Secrets of a Noble Keykeeper

“Centuries of perfectly-pitched heartbreak resound through Les' microphone as Stella and I embrace in a slow dance.”
― Daven Anderson, Vampire Syndrome