Quotes About Rhythm

Love is a dance.

My lips are fierce with passion. My heart spins fiery beats. A rhythm lives within my fingers and dances in my feet.

In search of that beat that my heart skipped when I first saw your beautiful soul...

heartbeat the sound i must hearand listen

Conversationally, we were Fred and Ginger -- spin, slide, shuffle, bend.

The wind plays its own music.

Music is what our soul sounds like when it sings.

Music, I think, he makes me feel like music.

A world without music is only filled with sounds in the air

His heart is the rhythm, mine is the echo.

We grooved together with a rhythm so beautiful that I could feel the moment turned into poetry.

Failure brings a climax in which one has the privilege of clearing his mind of fear and making a new start in another direction. Failure proves conclusively that something is wrong with one's aims or the plans by which the object of these aims is sought. Failure is the dead end of the habit-path one has been following, and when it is reached it forces one to leave that path and take up another, thereby creating a new rhythm.

de satan ou de dieu, qu'importe! ange ou sirène, qu'importe, si tu rends -- fée aux yeux de velours, rythme, parfum, lueur, ô mon unique reine! -- l'univers moins hideux et les instants moins lourds?

Who among us has not dreamt, in moments of ambition, of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical without rhythm and rhyme, supple and staccato enough to adapt to the lyrical stirrings of the soul, the undulations of dreams, and sudden leaps of consciousness.

Quel est celui de nous qui n'a pas, dans ses jours d'ambition, rêvé le miracle d'une prose poétique, musicale sans rythme et sans rime, assez souple et assez heurtée pour s'adapter aux mouvements lyriques de l'âme, aux ondulations de la rêverie, aux soubresauts de la conscience  ?

I felt better when everything was in disorder. It will take me some months to get back to normal: I can't even find a roach to commune with. I have lost my rhythm. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I have been robbed of my filth.

I've often thought that the unit of measure that best suits prose is the human breath

But one day leads to another, and so on. No way around it. It's that merciless thing that time does.

The main thing, Ruby said, was not to get ahead of yourself. Go at a rhythm that could be sustained on and on. Do just as much as you could do and still be able to get up and do again tomorrow. No more, and no less.

We are the only primates that can tap our foot or move our body in time with a specific rhythm. It's wired into us, but not into our chimp or gorilla cousins, which tells us that it is a trait that like language, big toes, and toolmaking evolved sometime over the past seven million years.

song—a long, winding tune that turns minor at times, major at times, but mostly is just running along in the background

If you listen to a language for 15 minutes, you know the rhythm and song.

I've become a day writer: most people start as night writers, and I used to be, but something happened to my endocrine system. I do miss the 3 A.M. writing jags.

Jazz is really 20th-century fusion music. You take West African harmony and rhythm, mix with European harmony, and boom!