Trumpets Quotes - Page 11

• With the pride of the artist, you must blow against the walls of every power that exists the small trumpet of your defiance.

  Norman Mailer

  Wall, Pride, Artist

  Norman Mailer (2013). “The Deer Park: A Novel”, p.368, Random House

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• The nerves are a problem on trumpet, because when you mess up everyone can hear it. Just remember most people are too polite to say anything about it. That should calm your nerves.

  Wynton Marsalis

  People, Say Anything, Nerves

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• With that, the poignant charm vanished. Inside the fifth machine, all was rampant malignity. Deformed flowers thrust monstrous horned tusks and trumpets ending in blaring teeth through the crimson walls, rending them; the ravenous garden slavered over its prey and every brick was shown in the act of falling. Amid the violence of this transformation, the oblivion of the embrace went on. The awakened girl, in all her youthful loveliness, still clasped in the arms of a lover from whom all the flesh had fallen. He was a grinning skeleton.

  Angela Carter

  Girl, Wall, Flower

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• Come with uncle and hear all proper. Hear angel trumpets and devil trombones...you are invited!

  Anthony Burgess

  Uncles, Angel, Devil

  Stanley Kubrick, Anthony Burgess (1972). “A clockwork orange”, HarperCollins Publishers

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• In the Christianity of Christendom the Cross has become something like the child’s hobby-horse and trumpet.

  Soren Kierkegaard

  Horse, Children, Hobbies

  Soren Kierkegaard (1959). “Attack Upon 'Christendom'”

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• He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.

  William Shakespeare

  Pride, Glasses, Proud

  1602 Agamemnon.Troilus and Cressida, act 2, sc.3, l.153-5.

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• …So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky

  John Dryden

  Sky, Crumbling, Lasts

  'A Song for St Cecilia's Day' (1687) 'Grand Chorus'

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• Patriotism is proud of a country's virtues and eager to correct its deficiencies; it also acknowledges the legitimate patriotism of other countries, with their own specific virtues. The pride of nationalism, however, trumpets its country's virtues and denies its deficiencies, while it is contemptuous toward the virtues of other countries. It wants to be, and proclaims itself to be, "the greatest," but greatness is not required of a country; only goodness is.

  Sydney J. Harris

  Country, Humility, Pride

  "Pieces of Eight". Book by Sydney J. Harris, 1982.

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• I'd address his way of trying to discourage Ian later. After all, he could have come up with something other than saying I was a whiny, smelly, trumpet-snoring bad lay.

  Jeaniene Frost

  Trying, Addresses, Way

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• That walls should fall is the consequence of blowing your own trumpet.

  Jeanette Winterson

  Wall, Fall, Should

  Jeanette Winterson (2007). “Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit”, p.112, Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

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• ...I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage. If the old imbeciles hadn’t discovered only the false significance of Self, we wouldn’t have to now sweep away those millions of skeletons which have been piling up the products of their one-eyed intellect since time immemorial, and claiming themselves to be their authors!

  Arthur Rimbaud

  Spring, Skeletons, Self

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• The Violins waltzed. The Cellos and Basses provided accompaniment. The Violas mourned their fate, while the Concertmaster showed off. The Flutes did bird imitations…repeatedly, and the reed instruments had the good taste to admire my jacket. The Trumpets held a parade in honor of our great nation, while the French Horns waxed nostalgic about something or other. The Trombones had too much to drink. The Percussion beat the band, and the Tuba stayed home playing cards with his landlady, the Harp, taking sips of warm milk a blue little cup. “But the Composer is still dead.

  Daniel Handler

  Home, Fate, Blue

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• Love isn't a burst o' trumpets and a flock o' doves descendin' out o' the heavens to roost on yer heads. Tis sharin' a cup o' tea by the hearth on a cold winter's night. 'Tis the look in yer husband's eyes when ye lay yer first child in his arms. Tis the ache in yer heart when ye watch the light in his eyes dim fer the last time, and know a part o' ye has gone out o' this world with him.

  Teresa Medeiros

  Children, Husband, Heart

  Teresa Medeiros (2011). “Charming the Prince”, p.311, Bantam

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• It was a grey day, that least fleshly of all weathers; a day of dreams and far hopes and clear visions. It was a day easily associated with those abstract truths and purities that dissolve in the sunshine or fade out in mocking laughter by the light of the moon. The trees and clouds were carved in classical severity; the sounds of the countryside had harmonized to a monotone, metallic as a trumpet, breathless as the Grecian urn.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Dream, Laughter, Sunshine

  F. Scott Fitzgerald, James L. W. West (1995). “This Side of Paradise”, p.246, Cambridge University Press

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• Hereby perceive we the love of God, because He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." How often I think of that 'ought.' No sugary sentiment there. Just the stern, glorious trumpet call, OUGHT. But can words tell the joy buried deep within? Mine cannot. It laughs at words.

  Amy Carmichael

  Inspiration, Thinking, Laughing

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• Rome was mud and smoky skies; the rank smell of the Tiber and the exotically spiced cooking fires of a hundred different nationalities. Rome was white marble and gilding and heady perfumes; the blare of trumpets and the shrieking of market-women and the eternal, sub-aural hum of more people, speaking more languages than Gaius had ever imagined existed, crammed together on seven hills whose contours had long ago disappeared beneath this encrustation if humanity. Rome was the pulsing heart of the world.

  Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Heart, Fire, Rome

  Marion Zimmer Bradley (1995). “The Forest House”, p.424, Penguin

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• ...All my best words are deserters and do not answer the trumpet call, and the remainder are cripples.

  Vladimir Nabokov

  Answers, Cripples

  Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov (1979). “Five novels”

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• I played the trumpet a bit like a porker, I think.

  Boris Vian

  Thinking, Bits

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• The first angel sounded his trumpet, and there came hail and fire mixed with blood, and it was hurled down upon the earth. A third of the earth was burned up, a third of the trees were burned up, and all the green grass was burned up.

  John the Apostle

  Angel, Fire, Blood

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• Louis Armstrong playing trumpet on the Judgment Day.

  Al Stewart

  Future, Judgment, Premonition

  Song: Genie On A Table Top, Album: Famous Last Words, 1993

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• I got to trumpet, finally. That's why I love to write for brass, and [Count] Basie and [Frank] Sinatra and all that stuff, 'cause that's just like part of my DNA.

  Quincy Jones

  Writing, Dna, Stuff

  "Quincy Jones Recalls "Freaking Out" at Michael Jackson's Death and His Private Nickname for the Star". Inteview with Stephen Galloway, www.hollywoodreporter.com. April 11, 2015.

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• Man, it seems, is not able to bear the languid rest on Nature's bosom, and when the trumpet sounds the signal of danger, he hastens to join his comrades, no matter what the cause that calls him to arms. He rushes into the thickest of the fight, and amid the uproar of the battle regains confidence in himself and his powers.

  Alphonse de Lamartine

  Fighting, Men, Battle

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• The harsh reality is that America moves on four wheels, powered by conventional internal-combustion engines. At this point, while the elite media (excluding Newsweek) trumpet the benefits of hybrids and Ford and Toyota plan to lead the nation into a low-powered, high-mileage hybrid Utopia, the multitudes remain loyal to the gas-guzzling family bus in the driveway.

  Brock Yates

  Moving, Reality, Media

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• Leaden trumpets spit the soot of power they say"I'm on your side when nobody is, cause nobody is.Come sit right here and sleep while I slip poison in your ear

  St. Vincent

  Sleep, Your Side, Poison

  Song: Paris Is Burning

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• A man says to me, 'Can you explain the seven trumpets of the Revelation?' No, but I can blow one in your ear, and warn you to escape from the wrath to come.

  Charles Spurgeon

  Blow, Men, Wrath

  Charles Haddon Spurgeon (1988). “Spurgeon at His Best: Over 2200 Striking Quotations from the World's Most Exhaustive and Widely-read Sermon Series”, Baker Publishing Group

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