Quotes & Sayings About Carol Singing

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you
and this is what it is like or what it is like in words. — Carol Ann Duffy

(Excerpt from Psalm 20 reflection)
A Blessing

May the Lord make himself real when you need Him most
May the power of his name protect you
May he send help from his legions on earth
And in the heavens
May he remember all your gifts
And reward your offerings
May he make your wildest dreams come true,
Your plans successful
May we shout with joy over your accomplishments,
Singing praises to our God
May God answer all your prayers — Carol Shelton Moye

If you are in NYC and you only do one thing culturally go and see Carol Lipnik at Pangea. If you love music and appreciate great songwriting and singing, if you came to NYC to experience magical happenings in tiny rooms that could never happen anyplace else in the world, if you dreamed of intimate nights surrounded by smart, talented, interesting people, this is what you're here for.
Now DON'T MISS IT!!!! — Justin Vivian Bond

I was always singing and dancing for my mother when I wasn't glued to the television watching I Love Lucy or the Carol Burnett Show. — Debra Messing

Doesn't he look just like a ring wraith?" she said thoughtfully.
"Are you kidding?" replied Cathy, "I most certainly won't be carol singing at your door this Christmas if you've got one of those ugly things hanging on it!"
"No, from Lord of the Rings," said Sue impatiently.
"I'm sorry," snorted Cathy, "I don't watch pornographic material."
"Have you never read a book?!" Sue snapped. "It's about a small man who travels through dangerous lands to drop a ring into a volcano, it's a classic."
"Does sound like a small man," she replied, "can't even face his marriage problems full on. — Paul Baxter

The Glasgow kirk in 1583 ordered excommunication for those who kept Christmas, and in 1593 the minister at Errol equated carol singing with fornication. The commission of such sins at Christmas need not even have been public. In a number of Scottish towns ministers were known to go door-to-door on Christmas Day to ensure that families were not feasting. — Gerry Bowler

We can think a healed thought and speak a healed word, speak of and to the two who are One, our MotherGoddessFatherGod. The hopeful but misty thought that "I've a Mother there" will give way to the experience that "I've a Mother here." We will know Him, Her, Them, Us, the Divine Family unbroken, bringing part to whole and whole to part, singing the indispensable She who had been forgotten but it now found, singing the wholeness, singing the holiness. — Carol Lynn Pearson

You came down from your throne and stood at my cottage door.
I was singing all alone in a corner, and the melody caught your ear. You came down and stood at my cottage door.
Masters are many in your hall, and songs are sung there at all hours. But the simple carol of this novice struck at your love. One plaintive little strain mingled with the great music of the world, and with a flower for a prize you came down and stopped at my cottage door. — Rabindranath Tagore

Christmas is the marriage of chaos and design. The real sound of life, for once, can burst out because a formal place has been set for it. At the moment when things have gotten sufficiently loose, the secret selves that these familiar persons hold inside them shake the room ... An undercurrent of clowning and jostling is part of the process by which we succeed finally in making our necessary noise: despite the difficulty of getting the words right, of getting the singers on the same page, of keeping the ritual from falling apart into the anarchy of separate impulses. From such clatter
extended and punctuated by whatever instrument is handy, a triangle a tambourine, a Chinese gone
beauty is born. — Geoffrey O'Brien

It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim rays of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little field-mice stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each other, sniggering a little, sniffing and applying coat-sleeves a good deal. As the door opened, one of the elder ones that carried the lantern was just saying, "Now then, one, two, three!" and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on the air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost, or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung in the miry street to lamp-lit windows at Yule-time. — Kenneth Grahame