Quotes About Music

Silence, too, is a kind of music. Silence will last.

nce each year, my father used to take us to the symphony. We never had good seats but Ba said it didn't matter, the point was to be there, to exist in the room while music, however old it might be, was being renewed.

Once each year, my father used to take us to the symphony. We never had good seats but Ba said it didn't matter, the point was to be there, to exist in the room while music, however old it might be, was being renewed.

But Sparrow remembered every word as if the brief letter was a poem or Bach partita. He could stand up and deliver it now, word for word, note for note.

Was this what music was, was it time itself containing fractions of seconds, minutes, hours, and all the ages, all the generations?

His sonata for piano and violin, he first piece of music he had written in twenty-three years, was finished, he could not do more. He made a clean copy, isnged his name and wrote the date, May, 27, 1989, and the title, The Sun Shines on the People's Square. He put the copy in an envelope to send to Kai. [...] He saw himself walking out of the room, this alleyway, this city, without turning back. The following morning, he put on his uniform and returned to work

She wanted to ask Kai if he loved Sparrow for who he was, or if it was his talent that was the true attraction. Didn't he understand that a gift like Sparrow's could not be bought or borrowed, it could not be stolen? Did Kai love the person, or did he love what Sparrow's music made him feel? Her own thoughts surprised and upset her?

There was Glenn Gould hunched over the piano, wearing a dark suit, hearing patterns far beyond the range of what most of us are given to perceive,

Perhaps he simply assumed: a bitterness of habit, of boy after boy trained for music and medicine, and unleashed for murder.

His fingers touched the strings and all my thoughts were displaced. The sound was pure and sweet as water, bright as lemons. It was like no music I had ever heard before. It had warmth as a fire does, a texture and weight like polished ivory. It buoyed and soothed at once.

Later Achilles would play the lyre, as Chiron and I listened. My mother's lyre. He had brought it with him. 'I wish I had known,' I said, the first day when he showed it to me. 'I almost did not come, because I did not want to believe it.' He smiled. 'Now I know how to make you follow me everywhere.

Circe," Apollo said, and it was the greatest chime of all. Every melody in the world belonged to him.

It was easy to see how such lovely things might become songs.

Did he know, or only guess at Achilles' destiny? As he lay alone in his rose-colored cave, had some glimmer of prophecy come to him? Perhaps he simply assumed: a bitterness of habit, of boy after boy trained for music and medicine, and unleashed for murder.

That is my mother's lyre,' I almost said. The words were in my mouth, and behind them others crowded close. 'That is my lyre.

I switched the FM-UHF marine radio to the commercial frequencies and tried to find something that didn't sound like somebody trying to break up a dogfight in a sorority house by banging drums and cymbals. Not that I want to say it isn't music.

Ghost Riders in the Sky" meets Vince Guaraldi!

Christ wrote a beautiful tune, which the church has often performed well, and often badly. But the melody was never completely drowned out. Sometimes it became a symphony.

Heya mola, heya mola diye ÅŸark? söylüyorlard? bara yaslanm??, bulant?yla baÅŸ edebilmek için ÅŸarap içerken.

What passion cannot music raise or quell

so meer Poets and meer Musicians, are as sottish as meer Drunkards are, who live in a continuall mist without seeing, or judgeing any thing clearly. A man should be learn'd in severall Sciences, and should have a rea?sonable Philosophicall, and ni some measure a Mathematicall head; to be a compleat and excellent Poet

Music is the exultation of Poetry. Both of them may excel apart but... are most excellent when they are joined.

But O! what art can teach, What human voice can reach, The sacred organ's praise?

Forest Grove was ideal, cool at night and just warm enough in the afternoon, with Mount Hood's majestic snowcapped peak visible in the distance and salmon running in nearby rivers. The quiet campus of Pacific, a private school known for its music and optometry schools, was lush with evergreens and white birch. The local residents were so excited to have an NFL team around that they fought to loan their cars to the players for use on the team's days off.