Quotes About Music

I should like to write four lines at a time, describing the same feeling, as a musician does; because it always seems to me that things are going on at so many different levels simultaneously.

He groped for his loafers and walked aimlessly for some time among the trees of the coppice where thrushes were singing so richly, with such sonorous force, such fluty fioriture that one could not endure the agony of consciousness, the filth of life, the loss, the loss, the loss.

To the sound of this voice, to the music of the chessboard's evil lure, Luzhin recalled, with the exquisite, moist melancholy peculiar to recollections of love, a thousand games that he had played in the past... There were combinations, pure and harmonious, where thought ascended marble stairs to victory; there were tender stirrings in one corner of the board, and a passionate explosion, and the fanfare of the Queen going to its sacrificial doom.

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Music, I regret to say, affects me merely as an arbitrary succession of more or less irritating sounds. Under certain emotional circumstances I can stand the spasms of a rich violin, but the concert piano and all wind instruments bore me in small doses and flay me in larger ones.

emotions of that kind ought to be more restrained, without violet irises and crying violins.

Now I shall speak of evil as none has Spoken before. I loathe such things as jazz; The white-hosed moron torturing a black Bull, rayed with red; abstractist bric-a-brac; Primitivist folk-masks; progressive schools; Music in supermarkets; swimming pools; Brutes, bores, class-conscious Philistines, Freud, Marx, 930  Fake thinkers, puffed-up poets, frauds and sharks.

It's crowded and gay down there, with a masturbating Jazzband. No?

Y entonces supe que lo más punzante no era la ausencia de Lolita a mi lado, sino la ausencia de su voz en ese concierto

I dreamt of you last night—as if I was playing the piano and you were turning the pages for me.

It's crowded and gay down there, with a masturbating Jazzband. No?

if a violin string could ache, i would be that string.

This, the dream and the dreamer, wandering in the desert from Hopkinsville to Vienna in love with a streetwalker named Music.…

No," said Oceola simply. "This is mine. . . . Listen! . . . How sad and gay it is. Blue and happy -- laughing and crying. . . . How white like you and black like me. . . . How much like a man. . . . And how much like a woman. . . . Warm as Pete's mouth. . . . These are the blues. . . . I'm playing.

Take Harlem's heartbeat, Make a drumbeat, Put it on a record, let it whirl, And while we listen to it play, Dance with you till day— Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.

And when I get on the train I'll cast my blues aside.

Life is for the living. Death is for the dead. Let life be like music. And death a note unsaid.

Music in the soul can be heard by the universe.

I figure, if you're going to be depressed anyway, you might as well listen to Joni Mitchell.

Then think of fire, It's laughter, the music of splintering beams and glass, The flames reaching through the second story of a house almost as if to -mistakenly- rescue someone who left you years ago. It is so American, fire. So like us. It's desolation. And it's eventual, brief triumph.

The older the violin, the sweeter the music.

Post-Modernism was a reaction against Modernism. It came quite early to music and literature, and a little later to architecture. And I think it's still coming to computer science.

Og jeg vet ikke om vi visste det, at vi satt der og skålte for noe som var ved å gå mot sin slutt, noe som starta en eller annen gang og som allerede var ved begynnelsen til veis ende. At Beatles skulle oppløses, at Jim Morrison skulle dø, at vi en gang skulle lete etter hverandre over hele Europa.

If there was no Black Sabbath, I could still possibly be a morning newspaper delivery boy. No fun.