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Quote by The Gaslight Anthem , Orphans

“We were orphans before we were ever the sons of these songs.”

Quote by The Gaslight Anthem , Orphans

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The Gaslight Anthem , Orphans

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“The living take a part of the dead with them, carrying them around in their minds, like a song that lingers after the music has been turned off.”

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“Even ruins turn into gardens. Even our silence learns the song.”

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“Writing has taught me that the frontier isn’t always a place. Sometimes it’s a season of your life. The space between who you were and who you might still become.”

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“It was a fool moon that night, and you were like a daffodil, glowing brilliantly in my arms.”

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“When the world slows down in its song of melancholy, I know, it's October, gently coming.”

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“This is one of the songs we've put together for it," Wyman said. "It's called 'The Cheesemonger's Blues.' I wrote the lyrics myself. It's a rap." He closed his eyes, rocked his body to the beat, and then launched into a rhythm-adjacent recitation of several dozen varieties of cheese.”

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Book:When the Moon Hits Your Eye

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“Thy memory stays midst friends, ’neath water thy body lies, thy spirit lives, a warrior star, set high in darkened skies. I’ll look for thee when day is done, thou jewel in night’s crown, a fearless legend, burning brave, forever shining down.”

Book:High Rhulain

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“Donut took a breath and started to sing: “Good girl, good girl, you’re a good girl, my princess. “You’re like a root beer float. Oh yes, oh yes. “I’d take it all back and never let you win. I wouldn’t do it all over again. “I love you. I love you. I’m sorry, my princess. “All eyes on me. “All eyes on me.”

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Book:The Butcher's Masquerade

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“The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction the weight, the weight we carry is love. Who can deny? In dreams it touches the body, in thought constructs a miracle, in imagination anguishes till born in human— looks out of the heart burning with purity— for the burden of life is love, but we carry the weight wearily, and so must rest in the arms of love at last, must rest in the arms of love. No rest without love, no sleep without dreams of love— be mad or chill obsessed with angels or machines, the final wish is love —cannot be bitter, cannot deny, cannot withhold if denied: the weight is too heavy —must give for no return as thought is given in solitude in all the excellence of its excess. The warm bodies shine together in the darkness, the hand moves to the center of the flesh, the skin trembles in happiness and the soul comes joyful to the eye— yes, yes, that’s what I wanted, I always wanted, I always wanted, to return to the body where I was born.”

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“One cup exactly," I say quietly. "Are you seriously whispering?" he asks. I look away from my cup of cream just long enough to glare at him. "Does the volume of someone's voice also affect how a recipe turns out?" he says. I keep glaring at him. "Should I sing to the cream?”

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