Judy Collins Quotes

The heart's in it then, spinning dreams, and torment is on the way. The heart makes dreams seem like ideas.

Fro and to in my dreams to you To the haunting tune of the harp For the price I paid when you died that day I paid that day with my heart Fro and to in my dreams to you With the breaking of my heart Ne'er more again will I sing this song Ne'er more will I hear the harp.

Dreams they come and go, but thoughts like love will always grow.

Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart.

The moment I first heard love I gave up my soul, my heart, and my eyes.

But no one frees himself from being in love in three days.

Love is one of my favorite things to talk about. Every song will be about losing it or finding it, seeing a guy and not knowing if you want to tell him how you feel yet. I guess I'm a hopeless romantic.

I like to write about love and love lost because I feel like there are so many different subcategories of emotions that you can possibly delve into.

There's a longing in country music that can soften even the rockiest heart.

I would say that my music is surreal, it's inspired by dreams, and it's inspired by heartbreak.

All the best songs have an element of sadness.

Arms now empty will be filled and hearts now hurting from broken dreams and yearning will be healed.

Sure my love is all crostLike a bud in the frostAnd there's no use at all in my going to bed,For 't is dhrames and not slape that comes into my head!

I still dream that it was you. No matter how many times I've looked, in my dreams it's always been you who were meant to be my queen.

O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head You'd know the folly of being comforted.

My heart is broken. It really is. All the signs are there. I can't sleep- not even burgers. Every time the phone rings, my pulse leaps... But it's never for me, it's never him.

I think when I first started discovering I could write songs, I was so naive. And it was after I got broken up with and had my heart sliced up into a bunch of little pieces that I was like, "I'm going to say this." I didn't even know how to play guitar.

At its heartmeat core, writing is about exploring the questions of your heart on the assumption that what intrigues you, what inflames or amuses or ennobles you, will have the same effect on someone else. It's about taking chances, and taking risks, and pushing yourself to be honest in the issues that present themselves.

The truth is that you can divide your heart in all sorts of interesting ways - a little here, a little there, most banked at home, some of it coined out for a flutter. But love cleaves through the mind's mathematics. Love's lengthways splits the heart in two - the heart where you are, the heart where you want to be. How will you heal your heart when love has split it in two?

There is an empty place within me where my heart once was.

Not writing would be like going the rest of your life without having dreams.

It tore my heart out, because I heard his voice. The wolves sang slowly behind him, bittersweet harmony, but all I heard was Sam. His howl trembled, rose, fell in anguish. I listened for a long time. I prayed for them to stop, to leave me alone, but at the same time I was desperately afraid they would. Long after the other voices had dropped away, Sam kept howling, very soft and slow. When he finally fell silent, the night felt dead.