Quotes About Melody

the violin — that most human of all instruments…

Till I was back in your arms again." She had a nice voice, and I hummed along

Another marvel: some one has me fast Within his ample palm; 'tis not a grasp Such as they use on earth, but all around Over the surface of my subtle being, As though I were a sphere, and capable To be accosted thus, a uniform And gentle pressure tells me I am not Self-moving, but borne forward on my way. And hark! I hear a singing; yet in sooth I cannot of that music rightly say Whether I hear, or touch, or taste the tones. Oh, what a heart-subduing melody!

Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper.

The writing of a melody is an emotional moment; success doesn't make it easy.

His goal now, he continued, was to write "just kind of songy songs that the milkman can whistle."4

Without the fingerprint of the heart, it would only be sound... not music.

the sweetest softest melody, as good a sound as the laughter of a pretty girl, or your mother calling you to dinner.

Miriam sang, "Gail, Gail, she bosses everyone around. Gail, Gail, she is really stupid." The melody was just as good as the lyrics.

The nightingale appear'd the first, And as her melody she sang, The apple into blossom burst, To life the grass and violets sprang.

Life is a song to me.

Every person, every race, every nation, has its own particular keynote which it brings to the general chord of life and of humanity.

The melody rose, unprofitably magical. It broke; it was resumed broken, not marching once from the cradle to the grave. The sadness of the incomplete—the sadness that is often Life, but should never be Art—throbbed in its disjected phrases, and made the nerves of the audience throb. Not thus had she played on the little draped piano at the Bertolini, and "Too much Schumann" was not the remark that Mr. Beebe had passed to himself when she returned.

but it wiggled around the back of his mind like a melody that you hummed without thinking.

Keeping time, time, time,In a sort of Runic rhyme,To the tintinnabulation that so musically wellsFrom the bells, bells, bells, bells,Bells, bells, bells.

The viol, the violet, and the vine.

If I could dwellWhere IsrafelHath dwelt, and he where I,He might not sing so wildly wellA mortal melody,While a bolder note than this might swellFrom my lyre within the sky.

Faith and joy are the ascensive forces of song.

In melody divine, My heart it beats to rapturous love, I long to call you mine.

Gratitude is the music of the heart, when its chords are swept by the breeze of kindness.

Sing unto him a new song; play skillfully with a loud noise.

Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord.

Play the music, not the instrument.

Music is what feelings sound like.