#do

I salute to you Commander and I sneeze 'Cause I have Now an Allergy To your policies it seems Where have we gone wrong America? Mr. Lincoln we can't seem to find you anywhere out of the millions From the deserts To the mountains Over prairies To the shores Is this just the Madness of King George Yo George Is this just the Madness of King George Yo George Well you have the whole Nation on all fours. ↗

— Tori Amos

#lyrics #music #yo-george #music

Perhaps it's natural for a father, for every parent, to see in his child all that's unspoiled and good. ↗

— Vaddey Ratner

#nature

why something and not nothing? why music and not noise? ↗

— Don DeLillo

#don-delillo #music

Music and silence combine strongly because music is done with silence, and silence is full of music. ↗

— Marcel Marceau

#combine #done #full #music #silence

Sex parties, alcohol and drugs lost their appeal to Sven after a while. Music never did, in his continual search for that sober connection--intimacy with one person over a long period of time, as opposed to periods of intimacy with a bunch of random faces. ↗

— Jess C. Scott

#connection #drugs #happiness #incubus #intimacy

It's time, my children When the waves rise high When the waters run deep When the clock strikes midnight You'll feel the mark of Zero Hour And you'll never be the same again ↗

— Lisa Mangum

#music #the-hourglass-door #zero-hour #music

They also keep a horned cow as proud as any queen; But music turns her head like ale, And makes her wave her tufted tail and dance upon the green. ... So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle, a jig that would wake the dead: He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune, While the landlord shook the Man of the Moon: 'It's after three' he said. They rolled the Man slowly up the hill and bundled him into the Moon, While his horses galloped up in rear, And the cow came capering like a deer, and a dish ran up with the spoon. Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle; the dog began to roar, The cow and the horses stood on their heads; The guests all bounded from their beds and danced upon the floor. With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke! the cow jumped over the Moon, And the little dog laughed to see such fun, And the Saturday dish went off at a run with the silver Sunday spoon. The round Moon rolled behind the hill, as the Sun raised up her head. She hardly believed her fiery eyes; For though it was day, to her surprise they all went back to bed! ↗

— J.R.R. Tolkien

#frodo #man-in-the-moon #over-the-moon #the-dish #the-spoon

One feels even in the midst of the traffic, or waking at night, Clarissa was positive, a particular hush, or solemnity; an indescribable pause; a suspense before Big Ben strikes. There! Out it boomed. First a warning, musical; then the hour, irrevocable. The leaden circles dissolved in the air. Such fools we are, she thought, crossing Victoria Street. For Heaven only knows why one loves it so, how one sees it so, making it up, building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every moment afresh; but the veriest frumps, the most dejected of miseries sitting on doorsteps (drink their downfall) do the same; can't be dealt with, she felt positive, by Acts of Parliament for that very reason: they love life. In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment in June. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#life

A single radio post still heard him. The only link between him and the world was a wave of music, a minor modulation. Not a lament, no cry, yet purest of sounds that ever spoke despair. ↗

— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

#doom #flight #music

Rock Music? No way, dude. Rock rules, and always will. ↗

— Meg Cabot

#music