A Quote by Nina Simone

Every day has its emotional difficulties. I miss my mother whether I'm singing her music or not. — © Nina Simone
Every day has its emotional difficulties. I miss my mother whether I'm singing her music or not.
I miss my grandmother every day. I miss her vitality, her interest in the lives of others, her courage and determination, her perceptive wisdom, her calm in the face of all difficulties, her steadfast belief in the British people and above all her unstoppable sense of mischievous humour.
I miss my father. I miss my grandfather. I miss my home. And I miss my mother. But the thing is, for almost three years, I managed not to miss any of them. And then I spent that one day with that one girl. One day ... It was like she gave me her whole self, and somehow as a result, I gave her more of myself than I even realized there was to give. But then she was gone. And only after I'd been filled up by her, by that day, did I understand how empty I really was.
Ninety-eight percent of the singing I did was private singing - it was in the shower, at the dishwasher, driving my car, singing with the radio, whatever. I can't do any of that now. I wish I could. I don't miss performing, particularly, but I miss singing.
I want to tell you how much I miss my mother. Bits of her are still there. I miss her most when I'm sitting across from her.
I always miss my mom. Mother's Day would be just one more day I'd feel her absence but for the relentless commercialization. Thanks to that, this day is even harder to deal with.
I still miss music and singing. One day, I'm going to sing with a big band.
My mother was a music teacher and my grandfather was a professor of music, and there was a lot of singing in the family. It wasn't like trained singing or anything like that, but it was singing.
We celebrate pride every day of the year - whether it's black pride, whether LGBTQIA + pride, whether it's the pride of being a woman, whether it's the pride of being a mother, we should be proud of who we are each and every day.
My mother had a Spanish upbringing. She was an excellent cook. Everything was home-made. We didn't eat food with smiley faces on it. My Mum passed away in 1994. I miss her. I miss her cooking. It would be nice to have a meal with her again.
It was entirely due to my mother [a devout Buddhist] and her kindness and perseverance that the family was saved from utter ruin. For a period of 17 years--from the age of 9 until I was 25 years old--my mother never spent a day free from domestic difficulties.
Starting in music, where I get a chance to connect with the lyrics of a song, I learned so much about performing on stage and connecting to your audience and to what you're singing about. Singing is very emotional. Every song has its own purpose.
I learnt a whole lot from my mother. About music, relationships, being a good person, loving people, the whole of life. I learnt about everything from her. Every single day I think about her. All through the day.
I had a voice - I had an instrument - I loved singing and I had an inspired singing teacher, Miss Sleigh. I went to her every Saturday, and I now possess the upright Steinway piano beside which I used to stand in fear and trembling if I hadn't done my breathing exercises.
I do miss the people in the audience and the fun: "I came with my mother! And this is my mother!" I miss that. I miss: "My cousin and I came all the way from...." I miss that. I don't miss this - who is left to interview?
She loved her mother and depended on her mother, and yet every single word her mother said annoyed her.
My mother passed away young - she died from ovarian cancer at just 54 years old. Her sacrifices for my sisters and I evoke a tribute in her honor each and every Mother's Day.
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