Quotes About Notes

You cannot unplay your notes. Time, like music, is indelible that way.

include navigating within the book, creating a collection, searching, taking notes, and last but not least, removing the book from your Kindle.

personal feelings. He was too good for that. When the meeting ended, it was six o'clock. He returned to his office, typed up his own notes, then he stared

Clara played badly, with no sense of rhythm and mistaking half the notes, but to me her serenade was liquid heaven.

The music guided Jonathon back. The notes of the flute were cool and clear: silver, green and blue. The lyre was sweet and warm: honey, damson, and cherry. The drum move the sounds of the two instruments together, into a carpet of many colours. This musical carpet slipped under him and supported him and lifted him with with joy. Suddenly Jonathon was flying. Flying on the music. he was flying over silk. Wrinkled, indigo-blue silk.

Frases musicales balanceándose locamente. Notas que había tocado cayendo unas sobre otras como un puñado de canicas escaleras abajo.

My music has always been strong in melodic content.

People respond to something melodic.

Basically, I'm a melodic writer.

I really like melodies.

I'm always writing; my phone is full of ideas - melodies and lyrics and stuff.

I just love catchy melodies.

I like good melodies and a great song.

A melody is not merely something you can hum.

I love melody more than any other part of music.

There is a lot of melody and things that sound familiar in hundreds of songs.

I'm all about the melody.

The way I see it, there's only one melody for any song.

As far as the music goes, I like melody.

I always liked melody.

With Audioslave, it's all about melody and chord progressions.

I don't like using fourths and fifths. Instead, I'll come up with a harmony line made up of major and minor thirds above the melody, then I'll drop it down an octave so that the melody is on top and the harmony line is major and minor sixths below it.

I want to see him clearly again with the help of these notes, these scraps of memory, which are meant to clarify and recall to mind not only the hopeless situation of my friend but also my own hopelessness at the time, for just as Paul's life had once again run into an impasse, so mine too had run into an impasse, or rather been driven into one. I am bound to say that, like Paul, I had once more overstated and overrated my existence, that I had exploited it to excess.

The floating pollen seemed to be his notes made visible, and the dampness of the garden the weeping of the garden's sensibility.