Quotes About Music

For the next two years, singing was the only time I didn't stutter. I sang for everything I wanted, like some Disney princess making a wish.

Life without music can only be seen in black and white. It takes music to add the color.

Nothing unites people more (without restricting their individuality) than sharing their admiration and love for a person; sharing an idea, a piece of music, a painting, a symbol; sharing in a ritual—and sharing sorrow.

Sooft in München in Konzert war, bei dem neue Werke von Ludwig Palffy aufgeführt wurden, kaufte sich Luiselotte Körner ein Billett, saß dann mit gesenktem Kopf in einer der letzten billigen Reihen und entnahm der Musik ihres geschiedenen Mannes, daß er kein glücklicher Mensch geworden war. Trotz seiner Erfolge. Und trotz seiner Einsamkeit.

The music enchanted the air. It was like the south wind, like a warm night, like swelling sails beneath the stars, completely and utterly unreal... It made everything spacious and colourful, the dark stream of life seemed pulsing in it; there were no burdens any more, no limits; there existed only glory and melody and love, so that one simply could not realize that, at the same time as this music was, outside there ruled poverty and torment and despair.

An accordion player posted himself at the curb and played La Paloma. The rug peddlers appeared with silken Keshans over their shoulders. A boy sold pistachios at the tables. It looked as it had always looked—until the newspaper boys came. The papers were almost torn from their hands and a few seconds later the terrace, with all the unfolded papers, appeared as if buried under a swarm of huge, white, bloodless moths sitting on their victims greedily, with noiseless flapping wings.

The orchestra sounds a flourish. A chap with a chrysanthemum in his buttonhole comes to the front and explains that a couple will now give a demonstration of the latest thing from Berlin—a fox trot! That is unknown here as yet; we have only heard tell of it.

Rien ne captive autant que ce particulier… Charme de la musique où ma langueur s'adore… Quand je poursuis, aux soirs, le reflet que mordore… Maint lustre au tapis vert du salon familier… 

The Death of Boris,' by Mussorgsky?

In his last moments, she said, he had run his fingers over his bedding as if playing the piano. "Do you hear that?" he whispered. "Isn't it wonderful? That's what I call music.

I have never written a note I didn't mean.

I am deeply sensitive to the spell of nationalism. I can play about thirty Bohemian folk songs ... on my mouth-organ. My oldest friend, who is Czech and a patriot, cannot bear to hear me play them because he says I do it in such a schmalzy way, 'crying into the mouth organ'. I do not think I could have written the book on nationalism which I did write, were I not capable of crying, with the help of a little alcohol, over folk songs, which happen to be my favourite form of music.

It is the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing too.

The gypsies believe the bear to be a brother to man because he has the same body beneath his hide, because he drinks beer, because he enjoys music and because he likes to dance.

Anything was better than Ezra learning to play the bassoon...

No. It's bad for me. Cole Porter wrote the words and the music. This knowledge that you're going mad for me.

THE GAMBLER,THE NUN,& THE RADIO You like music? How would I not

THE GAMBLER,THE NUN,& THE RADIO Tonight, sent by the police, they come to serenade me.He laughed, then tapped his stomach.-I cannot laugh yet. As musicians they are fatal

And I know old songs such as the loss of John Jacob Astor on the Titanic when sunk by an iceberg and I would be glad to sing them rather than that no peas no rice song if you so wish.

I went back to Bill. He blew his breath at me to show how cold it was, and went on playing.

Sometimes a little song is sweet to hear, even if the orchestra is more accomplished

Is the sorrow of death the same as the sorrow of knowing the pain in a child's future? What about the melancholy of music? Is it the same as the melancholy of a summer dusk? Is the loss I was feeling for my father the same I would have felt for a man better-fit to the world, a man who might have thrown a baseball with me or taken me out in the mornings to fish? Both we call grief. I don't think we have words for our feelings any more than we have words for our thoughts.

Music is constructed in notes. Language in words. Both are communicating. Music is a language of feeling, the heart. Words are the music of the mind. Theater is their marriage.

This is who Shakespeare was meant for: not The New York Times! Not intellectuals. Just plain folks. You play Shakespeare's music right for a real house and that shit goes up all by itself.