A Quote by Lawrence Welk

Music was my joy, my home, the one place I felt happy and secure. — © Lawrence Welk
Music was my joy, my home, the one place I felt happy and secure.
When you watch your mum and dad sing and they're happy and it brings them joy, it is then a natural choice to go where the joy is. Music was always that place in our family.
It was joy, joy, happy joy. Happy, happy joy. A big fat smiley sun rose above the rooftops and beamed down its blessings onto the borough known as Brentford.
Home is a sanctuary for me and the place where I can relax. Everyone should have the right to a safe and secure home.
You know, that's what I've regretted the most, that joy. Of course, later there were times when I felt happy, but happiness is to joy what an electric light bulb is to the sun. Happiness always has an object, you're happy because of something, it's a condition whose existence depends on external things. Joy, on the other hand, has no object. It seizes you for no apparent reason; it's like the sun- its burning is fueled by its own heart.
When I first visited the Hospice in Milton, I had a pre-conceived idea as to what to expect. Far from being a clinical, depressing place for sick children, it was a home. Most importantly, it was a family home, a happy place of stability, support and care. It was a place of fun.
I didn't grow up in the typical happy American home, but music was always a safe and wonderful place for me to go.
-Please, Anita, go home, and don’t freak. Just go home, and be happy. Be happy, and let everyone around you be happy. Is that so hard? When Jason said it like that, it didn’t seem hard. In fact, it seemed to make a lot of sense, but inside, it felt hard. Inside it felt like the hardest thing in the world. To just let go, and not pick everything to death. To just let go and enjoy what you had. To just let go and not make everybody around you miserable with your own internal dialogue. To just let go and be happy. So simple. So difficult. So terrifying.
Music for us is a place of joy. Bringin' joy... that's what we are all about.
If I could get myself to a place where I felt secure and I wouldn't have to kind of worry about money and I know my family would be secure, then I would leave the big studios so I could continue to make smaller films, and hopefully get to direct a few of them, too.
I first visited the Philippines when I was 29. I thought I would feel at home there, but I felt more out of place than I did in the U.S. I discovered I was more American than Filipino. It was shattering because I never felt quite at home in the U.S., either.
It's a dream come true, and with this music, with this Rossini, it's unbelievable how to express the joy and express the joy of the situation and the joy to play this music, to sing this music, it's really fantastic.
My father worked in a factory and as a child it felt very secure. It felt very secure because everybody had work, the schools were free, so there was a security of knowing that the war had finished and families would come together again.
This accident, or incident, happened in the most secure place I could have felt I was in: Walking onstage with my guitar, you know?
Music and comedy, musical comedy, specifically, really helped me through my childhood. I felt out of place, I felt lots of adversity, and I felt scared all the time.
When I was young, we were quite strongly discouraged from listening to pop music. It was an uncomfortable thing, pop music; I think my parents felt threatened by it. They were always happy when they were listening to Mozart, so if your parents are happy, then you're happy.
I had been doing theater since I was a kid, so the stage really felt like home to me. It felt like the place where I trust myself the most in the world and felt the most confident.
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