A Quote by Ethel Merman

Christmas carols always brought tears to my eyes. I also cry at weddings. I should have cried at a couple of my own. — © Ethel Merman
Christmas carols always brought tears to my eyes. I also cry at weddings. I should have cried at a couple of my own.
I told her that there was something about Christmas carols that always brought tears to my eyes. I added that I also cry at weddings. To me weddings are very solemn occasions. I should have cried at a couple of my own.
And thus was kept the first Christmas, the Christmas in the year one, with carols by the choir of heaven, and God's own Son, the Saviour of the world, coming as a Christmas gift for all mankind.
I think weddings are sadder than funerals, because they remind you of your own wedding. You can't be reminded of your own funeral because it hasn't happened. But weddings always make me cry.
He began to cry, not hysterically or screaming as people cry when concealed rage with tears, but with continuous sobs who has just discovered that he's alone and will be for long. He cried because safety and reason seemed to have left the world. Loneliness was a reality, but in this situation madness was also remotely a possibility.
You left and I cried tears of blood. My sorrow grows. Its not just that You left. But when You left my eyes went with You. Now, how will I cry?
I always cry at weddings, especially my own.
I hate to say it, but Christmas as a kid was always a moneymaking venture for me. I played trumpet, and a friend of mine who played trombone and a guy who played tuba, every Christmas we'd go out for three or four days beforehand and play Christmas carols on our horns.
I love going to weddings. I love movie scenes of weddings. Even, like, TV-show weddings - I cry at every wedding.
Should we cry when the pope dies, my request we should cry if they cried when we buried Malcom X
Dear God, May all the tears I cry, and all the tears I have not cried but hold within, pour forth into Your hands. Please take each painful thought and unhealed wound, and send angels here to me. I long for peace. Amen.
I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas, as if whatever it was the pine boughs and the candles and the silver and gilt-ribboned presents and the birch-log fires and the Christmas turkey and the carols at the piano promised never came to pass.
I cry secretly. I don't really cry in front of anybody. I hate crying. I feel like it's not accomplishing anything. But when I lost my mother, I cried, and I cried big.
I burst into tears and I cry and cry until it feels as though it is not salt and water being squeezed from my eyes, but blood.
I hugged him without any kind of fear or self-consciousness, fiercely, with a rush of emotion that almost brought tears to my eyes. "I could kiss you!" Chubs cried. "Please don't!" I gasp out, feeling his arms tighten around my ribs to the point of cracking them.
Drop, drop, slow tears, and bathe those beauteous feet Which brought from heaven the news and prince of peace. Cease not, wet eyes, his mercies to entreat; To cry for vengeance sin doth never cease; In your deep floods drown all my faults and fears, Nor let his eye see sin but through my tears.
I cried in English, I cried in french, I cried in all the languages, because tears are the same all around the world.
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