Trumpets Quotes - Page 7

• Walls protect and walls limit. It is in the nature of walls that they should fall. That walls should fall is the consequence of blowing your own trumpet.

  Jeanette Winterson

  Wall, Fall, Limits

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

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• Tomorrow the revolution will 'rise up again, clashing its weapons,' and to your horror it will proclaim with trumpets blazing: I was, I am, I shall be!

  Rosa Luxemburg

  Weapons, Revolution, Tomorrow

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• There is no need to sally forth, for it remains true that those things which make us human are, curiously enough, always close at hand. Resolve, then, that on this very ground, with small flags waving and tiny blasts on tiny trumpets, we shall meet the enemy, and not only may he be ours, he may be us.

  Walt Kelly

  Hands, Enemy, Needs

  Walt Kelly (1974). “Pogo revisited: containing the complete volumes of The Pogo poop book, Instant Pogo [and] The Jack Acid Society black book”, Simon & Schuster

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• The voice of the special rebels and prophets, recommending discontent, should, as I have said, sound now and then suddenly, like a trumpet. But the voices of the saints and sages, recommending contentment, should sound unceasingly, like the sea.

  Gilbert K. Chesterton

  Sea, Voice, Special

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• This might explain why Obama gave billions to Wall Street crooks, and dragged the Iraq and Afghan wars on and on.
  Happily for the busy lunatics who rule over us, we are permanently the United States of Amnesia. We learn nothing because we remember nothing... We have ceased to be a nation under law but instead a homeland where the withered Bill of Rights, like a dead trumpet vine, clings to our pseudo-Roman columns.

  Gore Vidal

  Wall, War, Rights

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• Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present; the words which express what they understand not; the trumpets which sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire; the influence which is moved not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.

  Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Moving, Inspiration, Writing

  A Defence of Poetry (written 1821) See Auden 22; Auden 39; Andrew Fletcher 1; Samuel Johnson 22; Twain 104

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• High horns, low horns, silence, and finally a pandemonium of trumpets, rattles, croaks, and cries that almost shakes the bog with its nearness ... A new day has begun on the crane marsh. A sense of time lies thick and heavy on such a place ... Our ability to perceive quality in nature begins, as in art, with the pretty. It expands through successive stages of the beautiful to values as yet uncaptured by language.

  Aldo Leopold

  Beautiful, Art, Nature

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• If you like to make things out of wood, or sew, or dance, or style people's hair, or dream up stories and act them out, or play the trumpet, or jump rope, or whatever you really love to do, and you love that in front of your children, that's going to be a far more important gift than anything you could ever give them wrapped up in a box with ribbons.

  Fred Rogers

  Dream, Children, Fun

  Fred Rogers (2006). “Many Ways to Say I Love You: Wisdom for Parents and Children from Mister Rogers”, Hyperion

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• I'll never be a poet,' said Amory as he finished. 'I'm not enough of a sensualist really; there are only a few obvious things that I notice as primarily beautiful: women, spring evenings, music at night, the sea; I don't catch the subtle things like 'silver-snarling trumpets.' I may turn out an intellectual, but I'll never right anything but mediocre poetry.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Beautiful, Spring, Night

  F. Scott Fitzgerald, James L. W. West (1995). “This Side of Paradise”, p.84, Cambridge University Press

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• Then the voices of the Ainur, like unto harps and lutes, and pipes and trumpets, and viols and organs, and like unto countless choirs singing with words, began to fashipn the theme of Iluvatar to a great music; and a sound arose of endless interchanging melodies woven in harmony that passed beyond hearing into the depths and into the heights, and the places of the dwelling of Iluvatar were filled to overflowing, and the music and the echo of the music went out into the Void, and it was not void.

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Echoes, Voice, Dwelling

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• Nothing arouses ambition so much in the heart as the trumpet-clang of another's fame.

  Baltasar Gracian

  Heart, Ambition, Fame

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• From the explanatory notes that Willson wrote to accompany his symphony, A Symphony of San Francisco,: "Generally speaking, the first movement is intended to convey pioneer courage, loyalty, strength of purpose and freedom." The trumpet motive in the closing Allegro "is a call of defiance to the very elements themselves that had the temerity to dispute the spiritual strength and courage of the golden city of the West."

  Meredith Willson

  Loyalty, Spiritual, Freedom

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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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• Man does not live by a turkey in every oven or a color TV set in every home. Man lives by faith and hope and love, by the star on the horizon, by the trumpet that will not call retreat.

  E. Merrill Root

  Life, Stars, Home

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• A superb tenor voice, like a silver trumpet muffled in silk.

  Alec Guinness

  Voice, Silver, Tenors

  Alec Guinness (1996). “Blessings in disguise”

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• The trumpet was not a lyrical singing instrument.

  Herb Alpert

  Singing, Lyrical, Instruments

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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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• O Music! Miraculous art! A blast of thy trumpet and millions rush forward to die; a peal of thy organ and uncounted nations sink down to pray.

  Benjamin Disraeli

  Funny, Music, Art

  Benjamin Disraeli (1833). “Vivian Grey”, p.197

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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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• They come to us, these restless dead, Shrouds woven from the words of men, With trumpets sounding overhead (The walls of hope have grown so thin And all our vaunted innocence Has withered in this endless frost) That promise little recompense For all we risk, for all we've lost.

  Mira Grant

  Wall, Men, Risk

  Mira Grant (2010). “Feed: The Newsflesh Trilogy:”, p.111, Hachette UK

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• It was the final session of the Council, the most essential, in which the Pope [Paul VI] was to bestow upon all humanity the teachings of the Council. He announced this to me on that day with these words, ‘I am about to blow the seven trumpets of the Apocalypse.’

  Jean Guitton

  Teaching, Blow, Humanity

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• I've never believed in the end of times. We are mankind. Our footprints are on the moon. When the last trumpet sounds and the beast rises from the pit - we will kill it.

  Travis Beacham

  Life, Moon, Pits

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