Music expresses that which cannot be put into words.
If music be the food of love, play on.
The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.
If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.
In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Life is one grand, sweet song, so start the music.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
None but ourselves can free our minds.
People haven't always been there for me, but music always has.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.
If I were not a physicist, I would probably be a musician. I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music.
Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing; To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
My garden, with its silence and pulses of fragrance that come and go on the airy undulations, affects me like sweet music. Care stops at the gates, and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
Sweet music, and your secret heart. Both have the healing grace.
or simply:
