Quotes About Harmony

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.

Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts.

With one auspicious and one dropping eye,With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,In equal scale weighing delight and dole.

O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear.

Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,Uproar the universal peace, confoundAll unity on earth.

Take but degree away, untune that string,And, hark! what discord follows; each thing meetsIn mere oppugnancy: the bounded watersShould lift their bosoms higher than the shores,And make a sop of all this solid globe.

Many things, having full referenceTo one consent, may work contrariously;As many arrows, loosed several ways,Fly to one mark; as many ways meet in one town;As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea;As many lines close in the dial's center;So may a thousand actions, once afoot,End in one purpose, and be all well borneWithout defeat.

The cankers of a calm world and a long peace.

At Christmas I no more desire a roseThan wish a snow in May's newfangled mirth;But like of each thing that in season grows.

All's well if all ends well.

Nature's above art in that respect.

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.

Orpheus with his lute made trees,And the mountain-tops that freeze,Bow themselves, when he did sing.

How many things by season season'd areTo their right praise and true perfection!

The tongues of dying menEnforce attention like deep harmony.

One for all, or all for one we gage.

So we grew together,Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,But yet an union in partition;Two lovely berries molded on one stem.

He is the half part of a blessed man,Left to be finished by such a she;And she a fair divided excellence,Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.

Our foster-nurse of nature is repose.

I never heardSo musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

As sweet and musicalAs bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair;And when Love speaks, the voice of all the godsMakes heaven drowsy with the harmony.

Under the greenwood treeWho loves to lie with me,And turn his merry noteUnto the sweet bird's throat,Come hither, come hither, come hither:Here shall he seeNo enemyBut winter and rough weather.

I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days.