Sing Unburied Sing Quotes Novels & Stories

“Keep searching.” “We are searching, Don, but—” “I said keep searching.” Marco stepped in. “Kayson.” I turned on him. “Did you not hear me?” The rescue diver coming in from the water pulled off his mask and said bluntly, “Don, there’s nothing left to save.” That was the moment something inside me gave way. I stared at the wreckage piled under the floodlights, at the twisted metal and burned scraps dragged out of the sea, and my legs nearly went out from under me. Marco caught my arm before I hit the ground.

she snarled at the guard. "Well, he thought wrong! I'm still alive, and that's his worst punishment. I'll go on to live as wonderfully as I can, while Juliette will remain mere bones on this earth! "He'll never be able to forget her or get a good night's sleep. I'll be an eternal reminder that she died in my place!" To that, all that Simon said was… nothing. That night, I watched him standing at the bathroom doorway, motionless for what felt like hours. He stepped inside, lay in the empty bathtub, and curled up like a baby—or, rather, like someone already dead.

He connects his phone instead and I almost choke at the song that comes on. “How do you know this song?” I turn in my seat. “It’s my favorite song.” “I know. I have an entire playlist for you Carrie…” he trails off when he sees me shift in my seat from the corner of his eye. “I just made you uncomfortable again, I’m sorry.” His words are drowned by the song. Unbinding Love by Street boys. If you love them, you stay. That’s what the song is about. That’s why I didn’t run away from home years ago.

At a party hosted at our house, my husband sang a soul-stirring rendition of “Missing You Tonight". He poured his heart into it, his eyes misty and his voice raspy with emotion. I secretly recorded a video and posted it online. To my surprise, the video blew up. Hundreds of thousands of likes poured in, with the comment section overflowing with sympathy. Laughing, I handed my phone to my husband. “Jacob, you went viral.” The top-voted comment read: [Girl, I’m not one to stir up drama, but your husband looks like he’s nursing a broken heart.] I thought he’d just laugh it off with a half-hearted smile. Instead, he took the phone and looked me straight in the eye with dead seriousness. “Yo

“Afro-confused-soul.” “You literally sang ‘I would die for you, but only if there’s burrito.’”

It was a song of mourning and reclamation. Her voice—low, smoky, unpolished—carried the names of every soldier she had trained. Every one she had buried. Every one who had whispered to her that they were afraid, and every one she hadn’t known how to comfort. But the chorus changed. From grief to glory. “Let the ashes sing Let the flame not die Even names unspoken Still reach the sky…” The entire courtyard lit up with silent flames—each listener’s hand catching fire not from magic, but memory.

"Love looks not with ideas, was our favorite quote from the play. Every time we were sad, we would say this to each other because it brought back memories of us having fun down by the waterfall." I can feel the tears welling in my eyes, but I can't cry in front of him, "The day you left for New York, you said this to me, wiping away my tears, and promised you would see me again soon. But that wasn't the case. I waited for you, and every time I felt sad, I would whisper the quote to myself and it would put a smile on my face." "Sabrina, I'm so sorry," Atlas mumbles, "I didn't mean for you to find out this way."

And beyond the Seventh Note. the Eighth waits. Unwritten. Unheard. Already singing.

"Today could have been the day That you'd blow out your candles Make a wish as you closed your eyes Today could have been the day Everybody was laughing Instead I just sit here and cry Who would you be? What would you look like When you looked at me for the very first time? Today could have been the next day of the rest of your life." Tears started sliding out of my eyes as I listened to the song. I looked up at Michael to see tears in his eyes as well. We finished walking up to the huge circle of chairs facing the burial prye. Michael and I took a seat next to the family. We all sit there in silence waiting for the funeral to begin. Another song came on and I silently cried while listening

‘Well fuck me, she left’ I thought as I turned to go back to the packhouse. I swiped my hand down my face, that did not go as planned. I had only taken a few steps when I heard someone singing. I didn’t see anyone, so I followed the melody: “Out of the ruins, Out from the wreckage, Can’t make the same mistake this time. We are the children, The last generation, We are the ones they left behind. And I wonder when things are ever gonna change, Living in fear, ‘til nothing else remains. We don’t need another Hero, We don’t need to the way home…” the words to ‘We don’t need another hero’ by Tina Turner floated through the air.