Sorrowful Melody Quotes

I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs.

The nightingales are sobbing in The orchards of our mothers, And hearts that we broke long ago Have long been breaking others; Tears are round, the sea is deep: Roll them overboard and sleep.

Life is not like Gloomy Sunday, with a second ending when the people are disturbed.

You drew a bird that was here, a kind of sweet chanticleer. But with a terrible fear that the cage couldn't tame

I am a black woman the music of my song some sweet arpeggio of tears is written in a minor key and I can be heard humming in the night Can be heard humming in the night

I don't write happy songs.

Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.

When the sweet talkin's done, a man is a two face, a worrisome thing who'll leave you to sing the blues in the night.

The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.

My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad; my mind is stuffed with words Which voice the passion and the ache of things: Illusions beating with their baffled wings Against the walls of circumstance.

There's nothing like a song about lost love to remind you how everything precious can slip from the hinges where you've hung it so careful.

Strumming my pain with his fingers, singing my life with his words, killing me softly with his song.

The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. It weeps monotonously as water weeps as the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things. Hot southern sands yearning for white camellias. Weeps arrow without target evening without morning and the first dead bird on the branch. Oh, guitar! Heart mortally wounded by five swords.

In a sadly pleasing strain, let the warbling lute complain.