May your heart always be joyful. May your song always be sung.

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.

There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.

Even in the mud and scum of things, something always, always sings.

There are always flowers,
Love cries, or blood.

Someone is always leaving
By exile, death, or heartbreak.

The heart is a fist.
It pockets prayer or holds rage.

The speech of my heart will be carried on in murmurings of a song.

Songs are my prayer

In difficult times carry something beautiful in your heart.

A song is the exultation of the mind dwelling on eternal things, bursting forth in the voice.

HERE
It’s-
Can I say?
It’s like the song of a family where everything’s always all right, it’s a song of belonging that makes you belong just by hearing it, it’s a song that’ll always take care of you and never leave you. If you have a heart, it breaks, if you have a heart that’s broken, it fixes.

If it's still in your mind, it is still in your heart.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches on the soul,
And sings the tune without words,
And never stops at all.

Music should strike fire from the heart of man, and bring tears from the eyes of woman.

"And it came to me while I [Merlin] was singing - watching the ring of faces around the night's fire, their eyes glinting like dark sparks, gazing raptly as the song kindled and took light in their souls - it came to me that the way to men's souls was through their hearts, not through their minds. As much as a man might be convinced in his mind, as long as his heart remained unchanged all persuasion would fail. The surest way to the heart is through song and story: a single tale of high and noble deeds spoke to men more forcefully than all of blessed Dafyd's homilies.
I do not know why this should be, but I believe it to be true. I have seen the humble folk crowd into the chapel in the wood to receive the mass. In all sincerity they kneel before the holy altar, mute, reverent, as they should be, but also uncomprehending.
Yet, I have seen the eyes of their souls awaken when Dafyd reads out, "Listen, in a far country there lived a king who had two sons..."
Perhaps it is how we are made; perhaps words of truth reach us best through the heart, and stories and songs are the language of the heart."