Goodnight, my angel
Now it's time to dream.
And dream how wonderful your life will be.
Someday your child may cry
And if you sing this lullabye
Then in your heart
There will always be a part of me.

Someday we'll all be gone.
But lullabyes go on and on...
They never die.
That's how you
And I
Will be. (Billy Joel)

Goodnight, my angel Now it's time to dream. And dream how wonderful your life will be. Someday your child may cry And if you sing this lullabye Then in your heart There will always be a part of me. Someday we'll all be gone. But lullabyes go on and on... They never die. That's how you And I Will be.

Related topics

angel child cry die dream heart now sing

Related quotes

Have regular hours for work and play; make each day both useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worth of time by employing it well. Then youth will be delightful, old age will bring few regrets, and life will become a beautiful success.

Louisa May Alcott

The day is not far off when the economic problem will take the back seat where it belongs, and the arena of the heart and the head will be occupied or reoccupied, by our real problems - the problems of life and of human relations, of creation and behaviour and religion.

John Maynard Keynes

Torture is an impermissible evil. Except under two circumstances. The first is the ticking time bomb. An innocent's life is at stake. The bad guy you have captured possesses information that could save this life. He refuses to divulge. In such a case, the choice is easy.

Charles Krauthammer

Love hinders death. Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.

Leo Tolstoy

What has influenced my life more than any other single thing has been my stammer. Had I not stammered I would probably... have gone to Cambridge as my brothers did, perhaps have become a don and every now and then published a dreary book about French literature.

W. Somerset Maugham