David Edwards Quotes

Depending on what you allow, you can still get the blues, man. I'm still trying to figure out where the blues really lies, where the street is.

The delta blues is a low-down, dirty shame blues. It's a sad, big wide sound, something to make you think about people who are dead or the women who left you.

Go ahead and play the blues if it'll make you happy.

Mr. Brad Delp. J'ai une ame solitaire. I am a lonely soul.

Music breaks my heart constantly.

My songs have a layer of melancholy.

Blues are the songs of despair.

All riddles are blues, / And all blues are sad, / And I'm only mentioning / Some blues I've had.

Music expresses longing and love and joy better than any piece of dialogue you can ever write.

It's a terrible feeling being lonely.

I have heartaches, I have blues. No matter what you got, the blues is there. 'Cause that's all I know - the blues. And I can sing the blues so deep until you can have this room full of money and I can give you the blues.

Only the lonely know the way I feel tonight.

One thing the blues ain't, is funny.

You could play the blues like it was a lonesome thing - it was a feeling. The blues is nothing but a story... The verses which are sung in the blues is a true story, what people are doing... what they all went through. It's not just a song, see?

Some of the greatest blues music is some of the darkest music you've ever heard.

The one thing I loved about blues and soul was the way they taught the world how to express such deep feelings.

The blues singers were talking about everyday life, and they pushed a button.

I write a lot of sad songs!

All the best songs have an element of sadness.

Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.

Sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.

The human heart has a sigh lonelier than the cry of the bittern.

Roy Orbison is singing for the lonely, hey, that's me and I want you only.

Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp'd no more - Behold me, for I cannot sleep, And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.