Quotes About Melody

La música existe para cuando nos fallan las palabras. (Kvothe)

La música siempre ha sido el mejor remedio para mis bajones de ánimo

Music carries words over miles and into hearts and memories.

Metal rusts, music lasts forever.

Shall we tune up?" asked Heimdal. He was answered by a chorus of "Sure," , "Why not?", and "Why? Do I look like a car?" "Okay. Ready. Mee, Mee, Mee, Mee," Heimdal sang. The assembled crowd sang back "You, you, you, you." "Very good. Now lets try 'you, you, you, you.'" Heimdal said. A chorus of "Me, me, me, me," filled the air. "Excellent," Heimdal

He dreamed of amassing musicians from all over the world in Woodstock and they would sit in a field in a circle and play and play. It didn't matter what key or tempo or what melody, they would keep on playing through their discordance until they found a common language. Eventually they would record this abstract universal language of music in his new studio. "The language of peace. You dig?" I did.

That deep silence has a melody of its own, a sweetness unknown amid the harsh discords of the world's sounds.

A Golden Day I Found you and I lost you, All on a gleaming day. The day was filled with sunshine, And the land was full of May. A golden bird was singing Its melody divine, I found you and I loved you, And all the world was mine. I found you and I lost you, All on a golden day, But when I dream of you, dear, It is always brimming May.

I would hear the song of the columns and visualize in the pure sky the monument of a melody.

There is eloquence in the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the rustling of the reeds beside them, which by their inconceivable relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to a dance of breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone.

Perhaps the only comfort which remains Is the unheeded clanking of my chains, The which I make, and call it melody.

A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.

with the ten-stringed harp and the melody of the lyre.

Sing praises to the LORD with the lyre, in melodious song with the harp.

“Take up your harp, stroll through the city, O forgotten harlot. Make sweet melody, sing many a song, so you will be remembered.”

For the LORD will comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins; He will make her wilderness like Eden and her desert like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and melodious song.