“They have me singing in a reformatory. My singing would be enough to get me in, but I'd never be able to sing my way out.”

“Sing to me," she said. "That would be valiant, to raise your voice in this dark, lonely place, and it will be useful as well. Sing to me, sing loudly-drown out my dreams, keep me from remembering whatever wants me to remember it. Sing to me, my lord prince, if it please you. It may not seem a hero's task, but I would be glad of it.”

“I am going to sing for you, a little off key perhaps but I will sing. I will sing while you croak, I will dance over your dirty corpse.... To sing you must first open your mouth. You must have a pair of lungs, and a little knowledge of music. It is not necessary to have an accordion, or a guitar. The essential thing is to want to sing. This then is a song. I am singing. It is to you, Tania, that I am singing. I wish that I could sing better, more melodiously, but then perhaps you would never have consented to listen to me. You have heard the others sing and they have left you cold. They sang too beautifully, or not beautifully enough.”

“My angel-boy is close now, as in five-feet-away close. There's no way I'm going to burst into song in front of him. But then the contrary part of me says, you're going to let a boy keep you from singing out loud? Sing, sister! Sing!So I do, and my angel-boy turns his head.”

“For me, singing sad songs often has a way of healing a situation. It gets the hurt out in the open into the light, out of the darkness. ”

“Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. SIng me to sleep, sing me to sleep, and then leave me alone. Don't try to wake me in the morning because I will be gone. Don't feel bad for me. I want you to know, deep in the cell of my heart, I will feel so glad to go.”