Quotes About Rhythm

Every play is rhythmic control. If you want an audience to go on a journey, it's rhythmic control. You're crafting when they lean in, when they push back, when they breathe, when they surrender.

She'd make a jazzy weekend, but she'd be wearing for a steady diet.

On the dance floor half a dozen couples were throwing themselves around with the reckless abandon of a night watchman with arthritis.

One of the functions of landscape it to correspond to, nurture, and provoke exploration of the landscape of the imagination. Space to walk is also space to think, and I think that's one thing landscapes give us: places to think longer, more uninterrupted thoughts or thoughts to a rhythm other than the staccato of navigating the city.

Some music has words, and rock had words that at times aspired to poetry, but the words were always sounds first, spoken to the body before the mind.

The sea is a body in a thousand ways that don't add up, because adding is too stable a transaction for that flux, but the waves come in in a roar and then ebb, almost silent but for the fain suck of sand and snap of bubbles, over and over, a heartbeat rhythm, the sea always this body turned inside out and opened to the sky, the body always a sea folded in on itself, a nautical chart folded into a paper cup.

The sea is a body in a thousand ways that don't add up, because adding is too stable a transaction for that flux, but the waves come in in a roar and then ebb, almost silent but for the faint suck of sand and snap of bubbles, over and over, a heartbeat rhythm, the sea always this body turned inside out and opened to the sky, the body always a sea folded in on itself, a nautical chart folded into a paper cup.

I danced with her mother on an old wooden floor where rhythm was queen. I danced with her father as he held her mother. I danced with her mother when her belly was big, a sail blown full with the wind. I held her mother as she let go of the earth's pull, as her family did its best to let the sweet dancing mother come home to me.

They were dancing in the social room. A record player shuffled a few simple chords violently together, then dealt them out with heavy emphasis.

It seemed to him that the sound of his footfalls had become as loud to his ears as the sound of his own heartbeat. Vital, life and death sound.

He ran a hand up his side and played the xylophone on his ribs.

We were all silent except for blink, blink, blink, blink, blink.

Incessant junk rhythm music thrashed the air as if this was the ventricle of some massive heart on tetrameth.

Today, I release the urgency of outer events. I listen to the inner rhythm of God. I set my pace by divine guidance. The world and its busy agendas do not control my soul.

Everything has a rhythm, Moncrieffe couldn't help but think, watching. The sea, our breathing, our anguish, our love. We couldn't endure the force of any of it all at once.

And so, one bit one's nails, unable to find contentment in the simple beating of one's heart... one smoked, unable to be satisfied with the rhythm of one's brain...

Timpului nu-i dai pinteni ca unui cal.

Ir nors kartojimasis neišvengiamas gyvenime kaip širdies plakimas, bet juk širdies plakimas - dar ne visas gyvenimas.

Slowly slowly O mind... Everything in own pace happens, Gardner may water a hundred buckets... Fruit arrives only in its season.

Until the song is sung and the musicians have all gone home, not even you can tell which notes made the melody.

John Lee Hooker is the funkiest man alive

I have enough rhythm to blend at this point. I have enough rhythm to blend one song into another. But man, I have such respect for the art of deejaying. I hesitate to even call myself a deejay.

"The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils."
(from The Merchant of Venice, Act 5, Scene 1)

There is a calm for you where men and women Unroll the chill precision of moving feet.