Chorus Quotes

“Tell me I'm a screwed up mess, that I never listen, listen. Tell me you don't want my kiss, that you need your distance, distance. Tell me anything but don't you say he's what you're missing baby. If he's the reason that you're leaving me tonight, spare me what you think and Tell Me a Lie.”
― One Direction

“A choir is made up of many voices, including yours and mine. If one by one all go silent then all that will be left are the soloists.

Don’t let a loud few determine the nature of the sound. It makes for poor harmony and diminishes the song.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“Then sail, my fine lady, on the billowing wave -
The water below is as dark as the grave,
And maybe you'll sink in your little blue boat -
It's hope, and hope only, that keeps us afloat”
― Margaret Atwood, The Penelopiad

“Who can stop grief's avalanche once it starts to roll.”
― Euripides, Medea

“Music replays the past memories, awaken our forgotten worlds and make our minds travel.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson

“In childbirth grief begins.”
― Euripides, Medea

“Hail the sun! the brightest of all that ever
Dawned on the City of Seven Gates, City of Thebes!
Hail the golden dawn over Dirce's river
Rising to speed the flight of the white invaders
Homeward in full retreat!" - Chorus”
― Sophocles, Antigone

“When a group of people sing together, we make up a chorus. When birds do, it's more like a whole symphony orchestra.”
― Laura Erickson, The Bird Watching Answer Book: Everything You Need to Know to Enjoy Birds in Your Backyard and Beyond

“We were once the ones who were living, and then we were the ones who were dying. We sewed ourselves, a thread's width, into your history.”
― David Levithan, Two Boys Kissing

“My mother exaggerates as often as she can. I'm sure she would like nothing more than to be part of a Greek tragedy. She wouldn't even want a large part, she'd be perfectly content with a chorus role, warning that fate is coming to make havoc of all things.”
― Helen Oyeyemi, Mr. Fox

“When he woke up, I said, “Your chorus should be more like ‘Big eyes, big soul/big heart, no control/but all she got to give is tiny love.”
― Taylor Jenkins Reid, Daisy Jones & The Six

“Ses’ach L’ru!” Came the slightly muffled chorus. This was Ruminarii for ‘Hail the Captain.’ Marsh’k sat down on his seat of office. It made a muted and rather obscene noise as he sank into the seat and the device registered his presence.”
― Christina Engela, Black Sunrise

“Same time as every day, Fyl..." she fussed, the rest of the bridge crew seeming to hold their breaths. "TWELVE THIRTY!" came the chorus. The next hour dragged by, in about the same way as the hour before that. At twelve twenty-five, Commander Ortez found himself stepping out of an elevator into an equally mundane grey steel corridor on his way to the mess hall. Turning a corner, he met with a stream of crewmen milling around between shifts. Some off-duty personnel were lounging around in civvies, which consisted mostly of re-revamped 60's hippy fashions. Of all the places on the ship, the mess was the most spacious, (i.e.: it was a big mess.) The command officer’s balcony overhung the rest of the crew dining area. Ortez sat at his usual place, wincing as he remembered to get someone to fix the springs in his chair. An ensign, 3rd class dressed in chef’s white, served him with a plate of what either ended up feeding the chefs latest pet - or strangling it. Marnetti, Barnum and the sciences officer Commander Jaris Skotchdopole filed in, not necessarily in that order, and found seats. After a few bites, Marnetti -- who was the first officer and navigator, put up a hand and signalled a waiter. The lad approached fearfully, appreciating the highlight of his day.”
― Christina Engela, Space Sucks!

“If you were to articulate it, who would be able to resist you? The great chorus of caninity would chime in with you, as if it had just been waiting for this moment.”
― Franz Kafka, The Burrow

“Ne’er a day will pass before us When we have not tried our best, Kept our cauldrons bubbling nicely, Cast our spells and charms with zest. Full of joy we mix our potions, Working by each other’s side. When our days at school are over Let us think of them with pride.”
― Jill Murphy

“The deceased was the tragic hero, the survivors the innocent victims; there was the omnipresence of the deity, strophe and antistrophe of the chorus of mourners led by the preacher. There was grief over the waste of life, the stunned wonder at the ways of God, and the restoration of order in nature at the graveyard.”
― Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye

“One side of the church auditorium was shouting, “Halle-Loo, Halle-Loo, Halle-Loo, Halle-loo-yah!” The other side would retort at a volume many decibels above a jet airplane’s with the phrase, “Praise – Ye – The – Lord.” They would counter each other several times before switching roles.
If there ever was a perfect illustration of making a joyful noise, this was it. Several kids appeared to be close to unconsciousness from over-exertion. There’s not a shadow of a doubt that God heard it, but I wasn’t quite sure how He’d feel about the display. He hadn’t accepted Cain’s gift, and this seemed kind of along the same lines to me.”
― Davajuan, Her Schemes and Plans

“I’m sorry,' [Marty] said unexpectedly.

“Huh?”

“That we never got to perform that duet together. Don’t you remember? For the Spring Concert?”

“Oh, yeah. What was that song we were going to sing?” I asked.

She placed her right hand on her hip and mock-pouted at me. “James Garraty, don’t tell me you forgot.”

I gave her an impish who, me look. When she smiled, I said in a more serious tone: “‘Somewhere,’ from West Side Story.” I hummed the song’s first measure; it sounded a half-octave off key.

Marty frowned. “You haven’t practiced lately,” she said disapprovingly.

“No, I haven’t,” I said, and as I said it waves of melancholy washed over me like a cold dark tide. Marty saw my expression change; she walked up to me and placed her arm around my shoulder comfortingly.

“I know,” she said softly, “how much you were looking forward to it, Jim. I was looking forward to singing that duet with you, too.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Really. You’re a terrific singer. Who wouldn’t want to sing a duet with you?”

“I bet,” I said, “you say that to all the boys.”

She laughed. My heart jumped as it usually did when she laughed. A thought clicked in my brain: What was it I’d written just a while ago? You are the one person who has the ability to brighten up a sour day. You have always managed to make me return a smile to someone else.”
― Alex Diaz-Granados, Reunion: A Story: A Novella

“Each stone, each plant participates in the chorus, giving each sound a new choice, a new path.”
― David Passarelli, Mountain poems: Musings on stone, forest, and snow

“Slowly, ever so slowly, the heavy door to the chorus room creaked open. We all looked to see who was entering the room.

It was a girl. She was of average height, clad in new 'first day of the semester' jeans, a white blouse that peeked out from under a navy-blue jacket, and clean new Keds girls’ sneakers. Her chestnut-colored hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her cheeks were rosy against her pale skin, partly because it was cold outside, partly because she thought she was interrupting the class.

'Can I help you?' Mrs. Quincy asked.

The girl hesitated at the door, clutching her backpack tightly. She looked at Mrs. Quincy nervously and fumbled for a piece of paper in her pocket. She walked up to the teacher, holding out the class schedule change form with both hope and a bit of fear. She bit her lip and waited for Mrs. Quincy’s reaction, hoping she wouldn’t be turned away or scolded.”
― Alex Diaz-Granados, Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology

“So, Jim, are you going to sing a solo at the Christmas concert?" Bruce Holtzman whispered to me as we sat in our usual seats in the back of the crescent-shaped dais, strategically placed between the basses and the tenors. “I know you’ve been saying you don’t want to, but you still have a few days to practice – if you change your mind, that is.”

“I don’t think so,” I muttered back as quietly and firmly as possible. Class was still in session, and even though Mrs. Quincy was easygoing and not as strict as some of the other teachers at South Miami High School, she still expected us to focus on learning our songs for the concert and behaving like mature young adults. Not like “a bunch of undisciplined hooligans,” as she once put it.

“But it’s an easy way to get extra credit,” Bruce persisted. “I don’t get it. You’ve been a Singing Cobra for what? Nearly a year now? And we only get a few chances to shine per semester, you know.”

“Bruce,” I said, trying to keep my voice low and calm so as not to draw attention. “I don’t mind singing in a group, as part of a larger unit. Singing a solo? That’s another story altogether.”

“Why? What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “Safety in numbers, maybe? I’m perfectly happy to sing the songs in the program and let others who want to sing a solo strut their stuff. I get nauseous at the thought of going on stage and singing all by myself in front of everyone in the auditorium.”

“Why, Jim,” Bruce exclaimed with a surprised, puzzled tone, “don’t tell me you still get stage fright!”

“Hey,” I snapped, “pipe down, man. Do you want us to get in trouble with Mrs. Quincy? I’m not doing a solo. End of story.”

“Okay, okay,” Bruce said in a placating tone. “But that extra credit sure will look good on your transcripts come next year. Especially if you want to get a scholarship.”
― Alex Diaz-Granados, Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology