“I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,Those of mechanics, each one singing his as itshould be blithe and strong,The carpenter singing his as he measures his plankor beam,The mason singing his as he makes ready for work,or leaves off work,The boatman singing what belongs to him in hisboat, the deckhand singing on the steamboatdeck,The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, thehatter singing as he stands,The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on hisway in the morning, or at noon intermissionor at sundown,The delicious singing of the mother, or of theyoung wife at work, or of the girl sewing orwashing,Each singing what belongs to him or her and tonone else,The day what belongs to the day — at night theparty of young fellows, robust, friendly,Singing with open mouths their strong melodioussongs.”

“Sing, boy! sing! The ages are waiting for you. Sing! sing! All the world will hear you. God knows what will come of it.”

“We passed a street minstrel who was singing in one of the more obscure Eastern languages, and I dropped a few orbs into his instrument case."Boss, was he singing what I thought he was singing?""A young man tells his beloved of his love for her."" 'My little hairy testicle—' ""It's a cultural thing, Loiosh. You wouldn't understand.”

“I sing, not to hear the echo repeat, a shade fainter, my song! I think of light and not of glory! Singing is my fashion of waging war and bearing witness. And if my song is the proudest of songs, it is that I sing clearly to make the day rise clear!”

“Do you hear the people sing? Singing a song of angry men”

“I want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think.”