I definitely secretly dream of being a mermaid.
SIREN, n. One of several musical prodigies famous for a vain attempt to dissuade Odysseus from a life on the ocean wave. Figuratively, any lady of splendid promise, dissembled purpose and disappointing performance.
I just love mermaids. I was a mermaid in my past life. I just feel it when I go in the sea. I just feel a connection there between me, and the water, and the fish - they speak to me - and the shells - they ring out to me.
I'm a mermaid now, half my body.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
The sirens sing sotto voce these days, and the young already have enough wax in their ears to pass them by without danger.
Every man needs his Siren to check his courage and strength when he hears her song in his travels through the unknown.
No siren did ever so charm the ear of the listener as the listening ear has charmed the soul of the siren.
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.
Temptation hath a music for all ears.
I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song; And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music.
If you sing to the mermaids, they come when you're drowning.
you're like a siren, leading me into dangerous places
My rhyming skills got you climbing hills, I'll travel through your mind into your spine like siren drills.
The television, that insidious beast, that Medusa which freezes a billion people to stone every night, staring fixedly, that Siren which called and sang and promised so much and gave, after all, so little.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.
The old men of the village of Mahotière say that the Mistress of the Water is a mulatto woman. At midnight she comes out of the spring and sings while combing her dripping long hair, which makes a sound sweeter than a violin. It is a song of perdition for whomever hears it. There is no sign of the Cross, no "Our Father" to save him. Her curse takes him like a fish in a net and the Mistress of the Water awaits him on the edge of the spring and smiles upon him and tells him to follow her to the depths, from which he will never return.
History is the siren song of the soul.
