Some people have lives; some people have music.
Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent
This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Life, he realize, was much like a song. In the beginning there is mystery, in the end there is confirmation, but it’s in the middle where all the emotion resides to make the whole thing worthwhile.
There are two means of refuge from the misery of life — music and cats.
People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands – literally thousands – of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss.
Life is for the living. Death is for the dead. Let life be like music. And death a note unsaid.
People haven’t always been there for me but music always has.
It’s no good pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently or if your favorite films wouldn’t even speak to each other if they met at a party.
We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.
One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.
If I had my life to live over again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week.
None but ourselves can free our minds.
Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more: ‘Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O…
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