Quotes About Music

Bow and quiver coming up, Nico said. And ukelele, Will added. Nico winced. Do we really hate Python that much? Will raised an eyebrow.

Making music was its own sort of divinity.

I pressed PLAY and started up Chiron's favorite--the All-Time Greatest Hits of Dean Martin. Suddenly the air was filled with violins and a bunch of guys moaning in Italian. The demon pigeons went nuts. They started flying in circles, running into each other like they wanted to bash their own brains out.

Everyone knows that when advancing into danger, the soprano goes first. They are your infantry, while the altos and tenors are your cavalry, and the bass your artillery.

On a bad day, he could only remember Justin Bieber songs, which didn't do anything except give me a headache.

One should never underestimate the healing power of music.

Together we made our way down to the street level. Neither of us said a word. The music was awful--Neil Diamond or something. I should've made that part of my gift form the gods: better elevator tunes.

This is the Valdezinator, of course! He puffed out his chest. It works by, um, translating your feelings into music as you manipulate the gears. It's really meant for me, a child of Hephaestus, to use, though. I don't know if you could – I am the god of music! Apollo cried. I can certainly master the Valdezinator. I must! It is my duty!

Apollo: A man of honor never surrenders his ukelele.

How could music cause so many lives to veer off course?

I wonder if anyone else has an ear so tuned and sharpened as I have, to detect the music, not of the spheres, but of earth, subtleties of major and minor chord that the wind strikes upon the tree branches. Have you ever heard the earth breathe?

She seemed to have apprehended all of the composer's coldness and none of his poetry.

A general air of surprise and genuine satisfaction fell upon everyone as they saw the pianist enter.

She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wears. The notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there though the clouds that had met and pilled one above the other in the west facing her window.

Melancholy, I repeated. I liked the way it sounded, like there was music hidden somewhere inside it. Kate Di Camillo, Because of Winn Dixie

And he discovered, finally, the source of the honey-sweet sound. The sound was music. The sound was King Phillip playing his guitar and singing for his daughter, the Princess Pea, every night before she fell asleep. Hidden in a hole in the wall of the princess's bedroom, the mouse listened with all his heart. The sound of the King's music made Despereaux's soul grow large and light inside of him. Oh, he said, it sounds like heaven. It smells like honey.

The sound of the king's music made Despereaux's soul grow large and light inside of him.

Baby leaned back in her seat. The train seemed to be going faster, and from somewhere far away Baby heard music. It was a song that she knew but couldn't quite place. Do you hear music? she said to Sheila. I hear something, said Sheila. She closed her eyes. She was quiet. I've got a physics professor who says that the stars sing to each other all the time. Isn't that cool? Maybe the music we're hearing is the stars singing.

Yes, sir, said Despereaux. He raised his voice. But...I broke the rules for good reasons. Because of music. And because of love.

Those tears were jewels to crown the heart of any singer, and I shall never forget them.

All systems of divination, like music itself, work through patterns.

In the background, classical music plays from a paint-splattered radio, the New York station with the ancient announcer more frequently heard in doctors' waiting rooms and other places where signs prohibit the use of cell phones – the last bastions of Beethoven or Chopin or, on racier days, Shostakovich.

You can't change the music of your soul. —In Esquire, 1967

He had promised Leslie that after Christmas he would stay home and fix up the house and plant his garden and listen to music and read books out loud and write only in his spare time.