Quotes About Music

But through watching his children create so freely, Waits had an epiphany: It wasn't actually that big a deal. He told me, "I realized that, as a songwriter, the only thing I really do is make jewelry for the inside of other people's minds." Music is nothing more than decoration for the imagination. That's all it is. That realization, Waits said, seemed to open things up for him. Songwriting became less painful after that.

had a husband once. He played the saxophone." "Oh, dear. So we may assume that didn't last?

My friend Kate once went to a concert of Mongolian throat singers who were traveling through New York City on a rare world tour. Although she couldn't understand the words to their songs, she found the music almost unbearably sad. After the concert, Kate approached the lead Mongolian singer and asked, What are your songs about? He replied, Our songs are about the same things that everyone else's songs are about: lost love, and somebody stole your fastest horse.

The simple little words came easily, fitting themselves to the tune that had come out of the harpsichord. It didn't seem to her that she made them up at all. It seemed to her that they flew in from the rose-garden, through the open window, like a lot of butterflies, poised themselves on the point of her pen, and fell off it on to the paper.

For a moment she lay still in the big bed, blinking sleepily, loath to move. And then she realized that the angel's song hadn't stopped on her waking. Silence sat up. The tantalizingly beautiful voice was coming from the half-open door to Mickey O'Connor's room.

We need to see how dance, music, theater, art, poetry, are major arenas for alliance-building, especially among youth. Culture can usher in new visions

When I am upset it is harder to ignore the sounds. If I turn on my music, it will press down on top of them, but they will still be there, like toys shoved under a thick rug.

You are all the happiness, he said, with an energy of conviction astonishing at half-past nine in the morning, and all the music, and all the colour, and all the fragrance there is in the world.

In the summer, on fine evenings, I love to drive late and alone in the scented forests, and when I have reached a dark part stop, and sit quite still, listening to the nightingales repeating their little tune over and over aga^n after interludes of gurgling, or if there are no nightingales, listening to the marvellous silence, and letting its blessedness descend into my very souL The nightingales in the forests about here all sing the same tune, and in the same key of (E flat).

if only my whole life could be words and music, if only everything else could slip away.

A great stag woven of rushes and fluttering with green ribbons was borne through the streets to the music of pipe and tabor. Crowds of women surrounded it, leaping and grabbing at the ribbons.

Look you not throw your music after pride: it's a rude servant, but a cruel master.

An ellipse of pale rose sand lines the inside of a river bend of such beauty, you could set yourself on fire with the rapture of that curve. In it lies a kind of music in stone that might cure all emptiness.

Someone was waving a large pink-and-white sign that read, Don't Worry, Be Happy. I was trying, and so were at least thirty thousand other bodies, with varying degrees of post-Aquarian patience, to see the Who for the first time in a year.

She was not the audience to which he played, but she was the profound intelligence that heard him. She drew him in with her great bruised eyes, and his music she drank, and it was wine to her thirst.

the old, less rigidly organized Christianity of the Celtic Church lingered stubbornly there, even though the Roman rite had prevailed. They would accept a runaway novice, all the more when they heard him sing and play; they would provide him a patron and a house harp, and strip him of his skirts and find him chausses and shirt and cotte in payment for his music.

These are bagpipes. I understand the inventor of the bagpipes was inspired when he saw a man carrying an indignant, asthmatic pig under his arm. Unfortunately, the man-made sound never equaled the purity of the sound achieved by the pig.

All night have the roses heardThe flute, violin, bassoon;All night has the casement jessamine stirr'dTo the dancers dancing in tune;Till a silence fell with the waking bird,And a hush with the setting moon.

It is the little rift within the lute,That by and by will make the music mute,And ever widening slowly silence all.

I do but sing because I must,And pipe but as the linnets sing.

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.

The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes.

Through and through the world is infested with quantity. To talk sense is to talk quantities, It is no use saying the nation is large- how large? It is no use s aying that radium is scarce- how scarce? You can not evade quantity. You may fly to poetry and music and quantity and number will face you in your rhythms and your octaves.