#ai

but it's so hard to dance that way when it's cold and there's no music. ↗

— Tom Waits

#music

yeah me see myself as a revolutionary, would wouldn't want no help and imma take no bribe from no one and fight it single handed with music ↗

— Bob Marley

#inspriational #reggea #revolutionary #wailers #music

There is an hour of the afternoon when the plain is on the verge of saying something. It never says, or perhaps it says it infinitely, or perhaps we do not understand it, or we understand it and it is untranslatable as music. ↗

— Jorge Luis Borges

#music #plains #understand #untranslatable #music

She sang, as requested. There was much about love in the ballad: faithful love that refused to abandon its object; love that disaster could not shake; love that, in calamity, waxed fonder, in poverty clung closer. The words were set to a fine old air -- in themselves they were simple and sweet: perhaps, when read, they wanted force; when well sung, they wanted nothing. Shirley sang them well: she breathed into the feeling, softness, she poured round the passion, force: her voice was fine that evening; its expression dramatic: she impressed all, and charmed one. On leaving the instrument, she went to the fire, and sat down on a seat -- semi-stool, semi-cushion: the ladies were round her -- none of them spoke. The Misses Sympson and the Misses Nunnely looked upon her, as quiet poultry might look on an egret, an ibis, or any other strange fowl. What made her sing so? They never sang so. Was it proper to sing with such expression, with such originality -- so unlike a school girl? Decidedly not: it was strange, it was unusual. What was strange must be wrong; what was unusual must be improper. Shirley was judged. ↗

— Charlotte Brontë

#empathy #expectations #expression #faithfulness #feeling

Head held high and lips parted, she breathed in the music, sending it through her torso and arms and legs the way the Tai Chi teacher told us to breath the air, transforming it into energy, motion. Dancing is the body's song, and Bess sang. ↗

— Lynne Sharon Schwartz

#tai-chi #transformation #music

A pity it is evening, yet I do love the water of this spring seeing how clear it is, how clean; rays of sunset gleam on it, lighting up its ripples, making it one with those who travel the roads; I turn and face the moon; sing it a song, then listen to the sound of the wind amongst the pines. ↗

— Li Po

#sword-sentiments #zen #love

I wanted to tell her not to entertain despair like this. Despair wasn't a guest, you didn't play its favourite music, find it a comfortable chair. Despair was the enemy. ↗

— Janet Fitch

#despair #sadness #music

Fue como si viera tu alma en las notas, en la música, y fue hermoso. —Se acercó acariciando suavemente la piel de su pómulo y sus cabello con el reverso de la mano. —Vi ríos, barcos, flores, todos los colores del cielo nocturno. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#jem-carstairs #music #tessa-gray #music

The boy Prewitt loved the songs because they gave him something, a first hint that pain might not be pointless if you could only turn it into something. ↗

— James Jones

#pain #songs #love

It was raining in the small, mountainous country of Llamedos. It was always raining in Llamedos. Rain was the country's main export. It had rain mines. ↗

— Terry Pratchett

#weather #music