#singing

When I was a child, Mama had the best voice of all the members of the church. She had loved to sing. Her words had soared like an angel's over the swells of the organ. In fact, I now suspected, her entire theology had been taken from the hymnal. ↗

— Siri Mitchell

#hymns #music #religion #singing #beauty

I only sing in the shower. I would join a choir, but I don’t think my bathtub can hold that many people.
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#bathtub #choir #kinky #music #musical

Intellectuals ponder, philosophize, interpret, and all this is essential to our shared experience, however, to feel the warmth of what lays at our feet within all that can be felt by the heart, is in an instant more powerful than mere words, we need to feel the words, capture the essence of what we see, and revel in the tastes of nature, and let ourselves allow our hearts to sing out loud, wild, and free. ↗

— Mark O'Brien

#loving-with-your-soul #singing-with-your-heart #experience

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

#happiness #heartwarming #love #singing #family

It is difficult to produce a television documentary that is both incisive and probing when every twelve minutes one is interrupted by twelve dancing rabbits singing about toilet paper. ↗

— Rod Serling

#both #dancing #difficult #documentary #every

But it was late. We had to go home. We listened to the river singing, the river singing stone. ↗

— Myrna Peña-Reyes

#home

Anything too stupid to be said is sung. ↗

— Voltaire

#music #singing #song #stupid #stupidity

She sang, as requested. There was much about love in the ballad: faithful love that refused to abandon its object; love that disaster could not shake; love that, in calamity, waxed fonder, in poverty clung closer. The words were set to a fine old air -- in themselves they were simple and sweet: perhaps, when read, they wanted force; when well sung, they wanted nothing. Shirley sang them well: she breathed into the feeling, softness, she poured round the passion, force: her voice was fine that evening; its expression dramatic: she impressed all, and charmed one. On leaving the instrument, she went to the fire, and sat down on a seat -- semi-stool, semi-cushion: the ladies were round her -- none of them spoke. The Misses Sympson and the Misses Nunnely looked upon her, as quiet poultry might look on an egret, an ibis, or any other strange fowl. What made her sing so? They never sang so. Was it proper to sing with such expression, with such originality -- so unlike a school girl? Decidedly not: it was strange, it was unusual. What was strange must be wrong; what was unusual must be improper. Shirley was judged. ↗

— Charlotte Brontë

#empathy #expectations #expression #faithfulness #feeling

Let's sing our way out of this ↗

— Isabel Fraire

#musical-theatre #singing #music

My first love was singing and I had no time for boys. ↗

— Christina Aguilera

#first love #had #i #love #singing