Ukulele Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Ukulele. Here they are! All 38 of them:

Leo didn't usually think of the ukulele as a sad instrument. (Pathetic, sure. But not sad.) Yet the tune Apollo strummed was so melancholy it broke Leo's feels.
Rick Riordan (The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus, #5))
I watched a lot of YouTube videos of cute geeky girls playing '80s cover tunes on ukuleles. Technically, this wasn't part of my research, but I had a serious cute-geeky-girls-playing-ukuleles fetish that I can neither explain nor defend.
Ernest Cline (Ready Player One (Ready Player One, #1))
I had a serious cute-geeky-girls-playing-ukuleles fetish that I can neither explain nor defend.
Ernest Cline (Ready Player One (Ready Player One, #1))
Does Zeus have a perfect tan? Can he play the ukulele? I think not!
Rick Riordan (The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus, #5))
I love crafting. Knitting, decoupage, scrapbooking, any "lady-ish" art form, I'm a fan. For about six months each. Then I shove all the supplies in a closet, alongside the skeletons of long dead New Year's resolutions, like saber fencing, playing the ukulele, and Japanese brush painting.
Felicia Day (You're Never Weird on the Internet (Almost))
I never said how sorry I was," I ventured, "about your Uncle Amax." Crest sniffed the ukulele fret board. "Why would you be sorry? Why would I?" "Uh... It's just, you know, an expression of courtesy... when you kill someone's relatives.
Rick Riordan (The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo, #3))
All her stories seemed to involve rowboats and ukuleles, full moons and campfires and grog. I was desperately jealous.
Paula McLain (The Paris Wife)
A man of honor never surrenders his ukulele.
Rick Riordan (The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo, #1))
Let me be the first to admit that the naked truth about me is to the naked truth about Salvador Dali as an old ukulele in the attic is to a piano in a tree, and I mean a piano with breasts. Senor Dali has the jump on me from the beginning. He remembers and describes in detail what it was like in the womb. My own earliest memory is of accompanying my father to a polling booth in Columbus, Ohio, where he voted for William McKinley.
James Thurber (The Thurber Carnival)
I didn’t understand the purpose of the seeds, but it was comforting to know that in a dire emergency I could hit people with my ukulele while Meg planted geraniums.
Rick Riordan (The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo, #1))
I watched a lot of YouTube videos of cute geeky girls playing ’80s cover tunes on ukuleles. Technically, this wasn’t part of my research, but I had a serious cute-geeky-girls-playing-ukuleles fetish that I can neither explain nor defend.
Ernest Cline (Ready Player One (Ready Player One, #1))
Princess Elowyn whirls at the center of a circle of Larks. Her skin is a glittering gold, her hair the deep green of ivy. Beside her, a human boy plays the fiddle. Two more mortals accompany him less skillfully, but more joyfully, on ukuleles.
Holly Black (The Cruel Prince (The Folk of the Air, #1))
Strumming a ukulele just right can make you sound like a pro, even if you only know one chord.
Wilson Villanueva
Maybe he’s got a ukulele and wants to serenade you in the moonlight.
Chrissy Peebles (Crash (The Crush Saga, #2))
The guys in the saloons shoving free ones across the bar and saying happy new year and many more of them kid you been a good customer have one on the house happy new year and the hell with the prohibitionists some day the bastards are going to give us trouble. The girls from the hash houses and the girls from the hotels and the guys swarming out of dirty little apartment bedrooms and music and dancing and smoke and somebody with the ukulele and have another and the feeling of being lonesome that everybody has inside him and people bouncing against you and off you and have another one and a girl passing out at the bar and a fight and happy new year.
Dalton Trumbo (Johnny Got His Gun)
The seeing-eye dog was giving a lecture called A Corpse Ate Death. There was an avant-garde orchestra accompanying ihs lecture. Dogs barked along, and small children played answering machines, recorders, trombones, triangles, and ukuleles.
Miranda Mellis (The Revisionist)
Perhaps Dexter’s dutiful but uninspired brain pictured him as Sherlock Holmes, able to examine the wheel ruts and deduce that a left-handed hunchback with red hair and a limp had gone down the road carrying a Cuban cigar and a ukulele. I would find no clues, not that it mattered.
Jeff Lindsay (Dearly Devoted Dexter (Dexter, #2))
I watched a lot of YouTube videos of cute geeky girls playing ’80s cover tunes on ukuleles.
Ernest Cline (Ready Player One (Ready Player One, #1))
Technically, this wasn’t part of my research, but I had a serious cute-geeky-girls-playing-ukuleles fetish that I can neither explain nor defend.
Ernest Cline (Ready Player One (Ready Player One, #1))
I could hit people with my ukulele
Rick Riordan (The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo, #1))
The amplified ukulele music was giving me a migraine.
Laird Barron (The Imago Sequence and Other Stories)
Hilary says to her sister, “You can’t eat only pie for lunch.” “Just watch me.” Lily plucks her ukulele out of the tote bag at her feet and strums it, singing, “Pie is fine. It’s very nice/ Especially with lots of spice/ Like cinnamon and ginger too/ My sis would like it, but she’s a poo.” “Oh, well, that’s brilliant,” Hilary says. “Taylor Swift must be looking over her shoulder.
Claire LaZebnik (The Last Best Kiss)
Cinta tak menafikan dan menghapuskan batas dan jarak di antara kalian. Batas dan jarak itu tetap ada. Namun batas itu tidak membelenggu dan jarak itu tidak memisahkan kalian. Elaborasinya serupa orkestra yang tercipta dari gabungan berbagai alat musik. Ada instrumen gesek; biola, viola, cello dan kontra bass. Alat musik tiup; flute, oboe, clarinet, dan bassoon. Alat musik petik; gitar, harpa, ukulele, kecapi. Alat musik perkusi; drum, piano, marimba, timpani. Namun demikian, gabungan dari semua instrumen yang berbeda beda itu bisa membentuk sebuah orkes simfoni yang indah, karena mereka tidak bermain sendiri sendiri. Mereka menyelaraskan bunyi dan nada dalam sebuah kesatuan harmoni yang padu, merdu, indah dan menyentuh hati.
Titon Rahmawan
Rick shuffled through the cards again. “Where is the tallest mountain on earth?” Lydia put her hand over her eyes so she could concentrate. “You said tallest, not highest elevation, so it can’t be Everest.” She made some thinking noises that caused the dogs to stir. The cat started making biscuits on her stomach. She could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. Finally, Rick said, “Think ukulele.” She peeked through her fingers. “Hawaii?” “Mauna Kea.
Karin Slaughter (Pretty Girls)
The eyes from Burma, from Tonkin, watch these women at their hundred perseverances—stare out of blued orbits, through headaches no Alasils can ease. Italian P/Ws curse underneath the mail sacks that are puffing, echo-clanking in now each hour, in seasonal swell, clogging the snowy trainloads like mushrooms, as if the trains have been all night underground, passing through the country of the dead. If these Eyeties sing now and then you can bet it’s not “Giovinezza” but something probably from Rigoletto or La Bohème—indeed the Post Office is considering issuing a list of Nonacceptable Songs, with ukulele chords as an aid to ready identification. Their cheer and songfulness, this lot, is genuine up to a point—but as the days pile up, as this orgy of Christmas greeting grows daily beyond healthy limits, with no containment in sight before Boxing Day, they settle, themselves, for being more professionally Italian, rolling the odd eye at the lady evacuees, finding techniques of balancing the sack with one hand whilst the other goes playing “dead”—cioé, conditionally alive—where the crowds thicken most feminine, directionless . . . well, most promising. Life has to go on. Both kinds of prisoner recognize that, but there’s no mano morto for the Englishmen back from CBI, no leap from dead to living at mere permission from a likely haunch or thigh—no play, for God’s sake, about life-and-death! They want no more adventures: only the old dutch fussing over the old stove or warming the old bed, cricketers in the wintertime, they want the semi-detached Sunday dead-leaf somnolence of a dried garden.
Thomas Pynchon (Gravity's Rainbow)
The very first thing I saw at this year's Telluride Film Festival was sheer bliss. "Lava," a musical romance from Pixar Animation, was one of the shorts that traditionally precede almost every festival screening; the director was James Ford Murphy. The story, spanning millions of years in 7 minutes, starts with a lonely Hawaiian volcano who, crooning to ukulele accompaniment, yearns for "someone to lava.
Is that a ukulele?" I ask. We stop and listen closely. "Actually," says Elena, "it's a bunch of ukuleles.
Paul Acampora (I Kill the Mockingbird)
On the bus to St. Louis, a man with a ukulele stood in the aisle and offered to play requests. Someone shouted out, “Freebird,” and the man sat back down, visibly angered
Kevin Wilson (The Family Fang)
I met Tyler roughly a year after his minimalist decision to leave social media. He was clearly excited by how his life had changed during this period. He started volunteering near his home, he exercises regularly, he’s reading three to four books a month, he began to learn to play the ukulele, and he told me that now that his phone is no longer glued to his hand, he’s closer than he has ever been with his wife and kids.
Cal Newport (Digital Minimalism: On Living Better with Less Technology)
Sergeant Perez began singing, “My dog has fleas.” As far as I know, Perez doesn’t play the ukulele or guitar, but I guess he knows someone who does. Guitarists and uke players sing that song to help them tune their instruments. Perez sings it to annoy me. “My dog has fleas,” he sang again. Being off-key didn’t help his song. “Your wife has crabs,” I sang, hitting the tune just right. Maybe that’s why Perez flipped me the bird. He was jealous of my singing.
Alan Russell (Guardians of the Night (Gideon and Sirius, #2))
Hey tomorrow, I can't show you nothin' You've seen it all pass by your door So many times I said I been changin' Then slipped into patterns of what happened before. 'Cause I've been wasted and I've over-tasted All the things that life gave to me
Jim Croce (Jim Croce for Ukulele)
The circumstances that had conspired to put them in their present predicament were convoluted to say the least. You could say the origins lay in an unlikely mix of rock and roll music, Adolf Hitler and a peculiarly persuasive ukulele salesman from Croydon.
Simon Truckle (Love's Labours)
Outside the man who strolls up and down the plaza selling yo-yos stops at a bench to tighten his shoes. He is your city's version of the dandy in the double-breasted suit who roots through the garbage scavenging for recyclables, or the old couple with sombreros and ukuleles who sit in the park singing songs about their sex life — recognized by everybody, the object of a thousand jokes, but so lasting a feature of the landscape that they inspire as much affection as anyone you could mention.
Kevin Brockmeier (The View from the Seventh Layer)
The fifth, in a rumpled plaid suit and plastic devil mask, plunked a ukulele. Even without the Satan-head mask, I realized Hawaii was a hell of a long way from Mexico, and I didn’t freeze, didn’t pause, just made a U-turn and cut back through the crowd. The last thing I saw was Ski Mask Guy’s neck twisting in my direction. I flew down the hall and then remembered that I was in the Commodore, and that the name of the Outfit-run hotel probably began with the third letter in the alphabet for a reason. I stepped around a corner and stared at a wall covered in flocked wallpaper. The pattern was end-to-end diamond shapes with small raised C’s in the middle. I pushed one, and then another, and another—I realized Ski Mask Guy would be rounding the corner any second—and pushed another, and one more, and then I thought screw it and took a fire extinguisher from the wall, listened for galumphing footsteps, and stepped out swinging. I nailed him at solar plexus level. He staggered backward groping at air, caught himself, and charged. I went low on the next shot, kneecapping him, and he squealed like a debutante. And then I was gone, down the hallway, pushing through the revolving door briefcase-first and sprinting for the Lincoln, yelling, “Al! Throw me the keys!” “Head’s up, Al!” he said, flipping them through the air. I snagged them, leaped in, and called out, “Thanks, Al!” “My pleasure! Watch your back, Al!” I roared from the curb, waved from the window, and hoped for more Als just like him
T.M. Goeglein (Cold Fury (Cold Fury, #1))
At the ukulele workshop that summer. He lectured on the four-note chord in the context of timelessness, and described himself then as a Quaternionist. We had quickly discovered our common love of the instrument,” Miles recalled,“ and discussed the widespread contempt in which ukulele players are held— traceable, we concluded, to the uke’s all-but-exclusive employment as a producer of chords—single, timeless events apprehended all at once instead of serially. Notes of a linear melody, up and down a staff, being a record of pitch versus time, to play a melody is to introduce the element of time, and hence of mortality. Our perceived reluctance to leave the timelessness of the struck chord has earned ukulele players our reputation as feckless, clownlike children who will not grow up.
Thomas Pynchon (Against the Day)
Exhausted by this burst of conversation, we relapsed into silence and gulped thankfully at our drinks in preparation for the next round. Some people, I am told, actually enjoy this first-date mutual appraisal disguised as casual conversation, but I think I’d rather go to a preschool ukulele concert. Or a Brazilian waxing appointment.
Danielle Hawkins (Chocolate Cake for Breakfast)
in Napa County. I eventually lost focus on the dome project and ended up busking with another friend on the streets of Berkeley—he played accordion, I played violin and ukulele and struck ironic poses. It was successful. I realized that at that time I was more interested in irony than utopia.
David Byrne (Bicycle Diaries)
Malcolm Lowry Late of the Bowery His prose was flowery And often glowery He lived, nightly, and drank, daily, And died playing the ukulele
Rabih Alameddine (An Unnecessary Woman)