reality sucks, that’s probably why we dream. Why our bodies need sleep. So we can escape. Escape this earth, at least just for a little while. Everynight, we get to go away. Sleep is the only time I feel safe. The only time I can leave this place. This reality that feels like needles sticking...

White folks have controlled New Orleans with money and guns, black folks have controlled it with magic and music, and although there has been a steady undercurrent of mutual admiration, an intermingling of cultures unheard of in any other American city, South or North; although there has prevailed a most joyous and fascinating interface, black...

Prayers For Rain’ begins like practically every Cure song, with an introduction that’s longer than most Bo Diddley singles. Never mind the omnipresent chill, why does Robert Smith write such interminable intros? I can put on ‘Prayers For Rain,’ then cook an omelette in the time it takes him to start singing. He seems to...

The more you love music, the more music you love.

Music is love.

When we are attuned to our inner voice, life becomes art and art becomes life.

Big fat hairy monkey, hands a couple of octaves wide?

There are millions of chords. There are millions of numbers. And everyone forgets the one that is a zero. But without the zero, numbers are just arithmetic. Without the empty chord, music is just noise.

Music, oh, how faint, how weak,Language fades before thy spell!Why should Feeling ever speak,When thou canst breathe her soul so well?

For a brief moment I felt I was the older, the more mature.”A gift of life,” I responded, “if not to say, a gift of God, such as music, should not have the mocking charge of paradox leveled at it for things that are merely evidence of the fullness of its nature. One should love...

What are words without the melody?

It’s old, very old I think. Made up long ago in our hills. What my music teacher calls a mountain air. But the words are easy and soothing, promising tomorrow will be more hopeful than this awful piece of time we call today.

I declare that The Beatles are mutants. Prototypes of evolutionary agents sent by God, endowed with a mysterious power to create a new human species, a young race of laughing freemen.

All my concerts had no sounds in them; they were completely silent. People had to make up their own music in their minds!

Music is a total constant. That’s why we have such a strong visceral connection to it, you know? Because a song can take you back instantly to a moment, or a place, or even a person. No matter what else has changed in you or the world, that one song stays the same, just like...

Music is the great uniter. An incredible force. Something that people who differ on everything and anything else can have in common.

By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods; since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, but music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit...

Three miles from my adopted city lies a village where I came to peace.The world there was a calm place, even the great Danube no more than a pale ribbon tossed onto the landscapeby a girl’s careless hand. Into this stillness I had been ordered to recover. The hills were gold with late summer;my rooms...

If music be the food of love, play on.

Im looking for a girl who’s fun to be around.

The atmosphere felt unexpectedly intense and the music was frantic. The beat made it both difficult to think straight and pleasant to move – like swimming almost.

If I cannot fly, let me sing.

With theology as a code of dogmas which are to be believed, or at any rate repeated, under penalty of present or future punishment, or as a storehouse of anaesthetics for those who find the pains of life too hard to bear, I have nothing to do; and, so far as it may be possible,...

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,speaking words of wisdom, let it be.And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,speaking words of wisdom, let it be.Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.And...

And, in the endThe love you takeis equal to the love you make.

I don’t really want fame and fortune; I just want to enjoy playing my music for people that enjoy hearing it.

Songs are dangerous, songs are subversive and can change your life.

Please don’t cry one tear for me, I’m not afraid of what I have to say.This is my one and only voice, so listen close… it’s only for today.

I’ve never known a musician who regretted being one. Whatever deceptions life may have in store for you, music itself is not going to let you down.

As I have said before, I had no illusions about my performing ability. But I did not know that my despair was brought about not because I had no talent but because I did not know how to develop it.

I won’t forget when I couldn’t go to bed with the lights offWhen I heard that voice call me in for the nightI remember when love was just a word and not a fightAll I had to worry about were broken bones and being left alone

You really fucked me up this time for good, even though you didn’t mean to

I spend my nights thinking the worstAnd telling myself that everything’s going to work outI keep kicking myself in the mouthOpening up every cut that should be a scar by now

You used to make me feel like I could walk on waterNow most nights I’m just sinking down and downYou’re the reason why I can’t listen to the same songs I used to

The danger of restorative nostalgia lies in its belief that the mutilated ‘wholeness’ of the body politic can be repaired. But the reflective nostalgic understands deep down that loss is irrecoverable: Time wounds all wholes. To exist in Time is to suffer through an endless exile, a successive severing from those precious few moments of...

A poet is a musician that can’t sing. Words have to find a man’s mind before they can touch his heart, and some men’s minds are woeful small targets. Music touches their hearts directly no matter how small or stubborn the mind of the man who listens.

While silently brooding, I am drawn to the start of a sweet melody that travels to my ear from afar. I smile, reminded that my heart can dance when my feet can’t.

I don’t know notes or octaves or the difference between sharp and flat, but I know music makes everything more.

All that you touch All that you see All that you taste All you feel. All that you love All that you hate All you distrust All you save. All that you give All that you deal All that you buy, beg, borrow or steal. All you create All you destroy All that you do...

Pochi uccelli Stephen preferiva ai succiacapre, ma non era stato il loro canto a farlo scendere dal letto. Rimase fermo, appoggiato alla ringhiera, e poco dopo Jack Aubrey, in un padiglione presso il campo di bocce, ricominciò a suonare con grande dolcezza nel buio, improvvisando solo per sé, fantasticando sul suo violino con una maestria...

God has abandoned you. Fear does not serve you. Your heart has betrayed you. Only the music can guide you.

The most exciting rhythms seem unexpected and complex, the most beautiful melodies simple and inevitable.

The real dance is a spontaneous body movement that in harmony with the beats of the music in your heart.

The tuba is certainly the most intestinal of instruments, the very lower bowel of music.

Dave walked closer to me, his dark eyes combing my every move. “Do you always hold your guitar like that?”I dropped my pick. “Do you always shop at Hot Topic?

The music brought us what it seemed / We had long desired, but in a form / so rarefied there was no emptiness of sensation

Orpheus never liked words. He had his music. He would get a funny look on his face and I would say what are you thinking about and he would always be thinking about music.

All language is an aspiration to music.

If you must write prose or poems, the words you use should be your own. Don’t plagiarize or take ‘on loan’. There’s always someone, somewhere, with a big nose, who knows, who’ll trip you up and laugh when you fall.

Like how stars might sound. Or moons But not mountains. Too floaty for mountains. It’s a sound like one planet singing to another, high stretched and full of different voices starting at different notes and sloping down to other different notes but all weaving together in a rope of sound that’s sad but not sad...