Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Lullaby. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Lullaby Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including Brandon Sanderson,Giles Andreae,Lailah Gifty Akita,Tiffany Reisz,John Keats for you to enjoy and share.
Hush now, my dear one ... be not afraid. Night comes upon us, but sunlight will break. Sleep now, my dear one ... let your tears fade. Darkness surrounds us, but someday we'll wake ...
When it's cold & dark at night, and we're alone together, I long to take you in my arms, and cuddle you forever.
If you cannot sleep, sing to your soul.
I'm here, little one," came a voice made for coaxing
secrets from the heart. "Sleep now. We'll talk when it's
time."
"Yes, sir," she said, now knowing where she was. She
surrendered to sleep again.
The most familiar darkness ... her darkness ... she was
home.
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.
The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
Voices tossed up and down the long flights of stairs, sourceless and intertwining like crickets' chorus, gentle as fingers on my hair. Night, they said, good night, sleep well. Welcome back, Lexie. Yes, welcome back. Good night. Sweet dreams.
Soft closer of our eyes! Low murmur of tender lullabies!
Bringing you 'raisins and almonds' and words (from a Yiddish lullaby
I cannot sing the old songs Though well I know the tune, Familiar as a cradle-song With sleep-compelling croon; Yet though I'm filled with music, As choirs of summer birds, I cannot sing the old songs
I do not know the words.
O sleep! O sleep!
Do not forget me. Sometimes come and sweep,
Now I have nothing left, thy healing hand
Over the lids that crave thy visits bland,
Thou kind, thou comforting one.
For I have seen his face, as I desired,
And all my story is done.
O, I am tired.
Music can be used against us as much as it can be used for us. Muzak can put a whole nation to sleep, whereas a lullaby is intended to put a child to sleep in a sweet way.
*The Lonely*
Dancing slowly in an empty room.
Can the lonely take the place of you?
I sing myself a quiet lullaby;
Let you go and let the lonely in,
To take my heart again ...
Hypotheses are lullabies for teachers to sing their students to sleep.
Cuddle
I cuddle you
i cuddle me,
i cuddle the loneliness,
in the solitude in which you left me,
your scent is in me,
in my being,
in my everything,
in my nothing.
Sunlight of love on your lips;
& the Nightingale has fallen into silence.
My fays shall lullaby you as we cuddle up on my mattress of dandelion down.
My mother told me when I was a toddler and in the crib that they would have music playing, and the thing when I lit up was boogie-woogie or something out of the Louie Jordan period of sometimes big bands, and then all kinds of things.
my heart, sometimes singing in the afternoon, the most haunting song of solitude
Softly sang as I drifted into dreams: F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y and Z A,
(air kisses, baby/air kisses/follow my breath)
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she
sings.
Sleep, Silence's child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings Indifferent host to shepherds and kings Sole comforter to minds with grief oppressed.
When we sing a song we give our soul a cuddle
The mother sings a hungry song
Of blood and cracking teeth
She dances in the dark below
wants to pull us underneath
Her claws, they rise, they sway in dance
to the melody of screams
Her lullaby will never end
till the world comes apart at the seams
When the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby, it helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky.
My son - and what's a song? A thing begot within a pair of minutes, thereabout, a lump bred up in darkness.
The silence sings. It is musical. I remember a night when it was audible. I heard the unspeakable.
Sweet Crescent Moon ... ," he whispered, his lips barely able to form the words. He began to shiver. "Up in the sky ... " He hummed a few bars of a song, a lullaby that seemed barely familiar. "You sing your song ... so sweetly ... after sunshine passes ...
Little sleep's-head sprouting hair in the moonlight,
when I come back
we will go out together,
we will walk out together among,
the ten thousand things,
each scratched too late with such knowledge, the wages of dying is love.
Ever afternoon, me and Baby Girl set in the. rocking chair before her nap. Ever afternoon, I tell her: You kind, you smart, you important. But she growing up and I know, soon, them few words ain't gone be enough.
Your voice so sweet and tender whispers lovely lullabies.
Making me swoon in awe as we dream under the night skies.
Leaving me nostalgic until we both say our goodbyes.
Kissing away our dreams as we wipe the tears from our eyes.
Wishing upon each star until the sunrise.
Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright. Round yon Virgin Mother and Child. Holy Infant so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace.
Oh, I don't wonder babies always cry when they wake up in the night. So often I want to do it too.
Most babies come into the world crying or gasping or snotting.
Not Tiny Cooper.
He comes into the world singing.
In all of us there is an elusive melody which when heard and followed leads to the fulfillment of our fondest dreams
I know you know the tale of Baby June You know the way she could deliver a tune She was a killer in a petticoat A little bit of everyone you adore ... And if your baby let you down at night, Well Baby June would make it up alright And I was never happier Than in the arms and charms of her
It just didn't feel right to let my child scream and holler and thrash by her little self in the dark in her crib when I knew full well that a little rocking in her glider, maybe a song and a sweet nuzzle of her cheek would send her off to dreamland.
Oh, do not cease at all; I thought the nightingale sang but at night; or if thou needst must cease, then let my lips touch the sweet lips that can such music make.
Upon the lips of babes asleep I saw light embracing light and so allowed my syllables to rest there as a prayer they might sing in their dreams ...
You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting.
Fold your arms round me close and strain me so that our hearts may break and our souls go free at last. Take me to that happy place of which you told me long ago. The fields whence none return, but where great singers sing their songs forever.
Now I lay me down to sleep upon my pillow fluffed up so deep my dreams will take me far away to the land all children play when I wake with that new yawn shortly after the new dawn I'll try to have the best day I can until I return to my dream land
I am the laughter of the new-born child On whose soft-breathing sleep an angel smiled.
It's morning when I go to sleep
In the distant dawn a church bell rings
Another day is coming on
A baby's born, an old man dies
Somewhere young lovers kiss good-bye
I leave my soul and just move on
And wish that I was there to sing this song
The children of the night; what sweet music they make...when they're in tune!
Somewhere in my brain
each laugh, tear and lullaby
becomes memory.
We grown-up people think that we appreciate music, but if we realized the sense that an infant has brought with it of appreciating sound and rhythm, we would never boast of knowing music. The infant is music itself.
Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on.
There's no sunset so lovely it couldn't be yet lovelier, no gentle breeze bringing us sleep that couldn't bring a yet sounder sleep.
All night, this soft rain from The distant past. No wonder I sometimes Waken as a child.
When the night falls, my lonely heart calls.
I hate when songwriters refer to their songs as babies.
A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Nothing can stop the words so well as the mute alphabet of knit and purl. The curl of your cupped hand scoops up long drinks of calm. The rhythm you find is from down inside, rocking cradle, heartbeat, ocean. Waves on a rockless shore.
A Beautiful Melody
- for you -
September 17, 2016
Let's hear the sound of the baby pianny.
Be thy sleep
Silent as night is, and as deep.
The Dream Keeper
Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamer,
Bring me all your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.
when we're done, I'll be where the night never stops
cradling a bruise that's shaped like you
wondering why sleep never came to me
wondering how I still dreamed
There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep.
Listen little Songkeeper, the voice whispered, and I will sing you a Song.
The mute grain turns to love songs when swallowed by the nightingale.
Nearly all children have a feeling for rhythm in words, for the delicate pattern of nursery rhymes. Many adults have lost this feeling and, if they read verse at all, demand a far cruder music than that which they once appreciated.
Sleep, ignorant of pain, sleep, ignorant of grief, may you come to us blowing softly, kindly, kindly come king.
When the voices of children are heard on the greenAnd laughing is heard on the hill,My heart is at rest within my breastAnd everything else is still.
Perhaps we are given a mom that we might take into death the memory of a lullaby.
The sweetest softest melody, as good a sound as the laughter of a pretty girl, or your mother calling you to dinner.
I am pregnant with song. My body aches but do not betray me. I will sing songs and hide them away. I will tear them into bits and throw them in the street. The streets of my city are full of dark holes. I will hide my songs in the holes of the streets.
The night's chilly breath tickles up my neck and finds my ear, whispering secrets only the wind knows.
Just because a baby cries, I discovered, doesn't mean there's always something wrong. Sometimes babies wake up for no real reason. They just want to check if they're doing it right. "This is Sleeping, right?" "Exactly." "I just lie here?" "That's right." "Okay." Then back to sleep they go.
The dreams of childhood - it's airy fables, its graceful, beautiful, humane, impossible adornments of the world beyond; so good to be believed in once, so good to be remembered when outgrown ...
Breathe slumbrous music round me, sweet and slow,To honied phrases set!Into the land of dreams I long to go.Bid me forget!
Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere.
You can sit and meditate while
your baby cries himself to sleep.
Or you can go to him and share
his tears, and find your Self.
There are words in the soul of a newborn baby, wanting and waiting to be written.
One nightingale in an interfluous wood Satiate the hungry dark with melody.
For all my dreams of complex new beginnings and convoluted endings, it can be as easy as this: a boy singing hymns again.
Lulled by stupefying illusions, the world is asleep in the cradle of infancy, dreaming away the hours.
In Lullabies, I wanted to capture what I remembered of the drunken babbling of unfortunate twelve-year-olds: their illusions, their ludicrously bad choices, their lack of morality and utter disbelief in cause and effect
What will a child learn sooner than a song?
If my serenade of song and story should serve as a pillow for some composer's head, as yet perhaps unborn, to dream and build on our fond melodies in his tomorrow, I have not labored in vain.
the siren song/called silence
But with exquisite breathing you smile, with satisfaction of love, And I touch you again as you tick in the silence and settle in sleep.
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing. A tone Of some world far from ours, where music and moonlight and feeling are one.
The wall is silence, the grass is sleep, Tall trees of peace their vigil keep, And the Fairy of Dreams with moth-wings furled. Plays soft on her flute to the drowsy world.
The nightingale is sovereign of song.
The song is over. But the melody lingers on.
My heart can feel the softness of a star
Only when the moon stays afar
I lay my mind on the pillow of sky
Where sleep dares not ever to pry
Rock-a-bye Baby
In the tree top
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks
The cradle will fall
And Mama will catch you
Cradle and all!
What kind of idiot bird sings in the middle of the night?... I wish it'd shut up and let me sleep! - Pirra
And suddenly she began to sing. Keen, heart-piercing was her song as the song of the lark that rises from the gates of night and pours its voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun behind the walls of the world
Sleep I forget. Her silky breath no longer fans my ears; I dream I float on some forgotten stream that hath a saviour still of death,
Sweet crescent moon, up in the sky. You sing your song sweetly sunshine passes by. ...
See the wild birds on the wing,
Hear the bells that sweetly ring,
When you feel like singin', sing
Keep a-goin'!
Melody." His voice was a tormented whisper on his lips.
"Yes," I said.
"If you ever need to escape, come to me."
"What?" I asked.
"Just come. I won't ... I would never hurt you."
"But - "
"You're all that matters to me.
There's nightingales calling, shooting stars falling, like jewels in the rain.
Not to have been born is undoubtedly best, but sound sleep is second best.
When I got tired, Logan would sing me to sleep, sometimes a painfully appropriate song like Flogging Molly's "If I Ever Leave This World Alive" or Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars." Sometimes he'd pick a lilting Irish lullaby, or even a song he'd written himself.