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“Her pulse pounded in her ears. She didn't need to turn around to know he was standing behind her. Most likely with a smirk at catching her impromptu belly dance.”
― Rachel Harris, Accidentally Married on Purpose

“I don't wanna talk about it
Cause I'm in love with you.”
― Avril Lavigne Fall to Pieces

“…especially the young ones, come into the canyon for the first time, quiet as deer, some of them, coming to your hand for salt: their dark eyes wide and gleaming with the wonder and the fear we had all felt at seeing for the first time life as our dreams had always imagined it… at seeing so many people with whom they could fall in love. The old enchantment composed of lights, music, people was transfixing them for the first time, and it made their faces even more touching.”
― Andrew Holleran, Dancer from the Dance

“An image of Mia flashes before my eyes. Seventeen years old, those dark eyes full of love, intensity, fear, music, sex, magic, grief.”
― Gayle Forman, Where She Went

“These scenes,’ said Valancourt, at length, ‘soften the heart, like the notes of sweet music, and inspire that delicious melancholy which no person, who had felt it once, would resign for the gayest pleasures. They waken our best and purest feelings, disposing us to benevolence, pity, and friendship. Those whom I love — I always seem to love more in such an hour as this.’ His voice trembled, and he paused.”
― Anne Radcliffe, The Romance of the Forest: A Gothic Novel (Annotated)

“His tone is mild, but there is, and always has been, something a little deeper and more resonant about his voice. It has a slightly different timbre than more voices. Its the kind of thing you forget until you hear it again and remember. Oh yes, His voice has music.”
― Ally Condie, Matched

“If we go on in this way, we shall have a new art of poetry, of which one of the first rules will be: To remember to forget that there are any such things as sunshine and music in the world.”
― Thomas Love Peacock, Nightmare Abbey

“Gary Hallet is getting leg cramps sitting in the Honda, but he’s not going anywhere yet. His grandfather used to tell him that most folks had it all wrong: The truth of the matter was, you could lead a horse to water, and if the water was cool enough, if it was truly clear and sweet, you wouldn’t have to force him to drink. Tonight Gary feels a whole lot more like the horse than the rider. He has stumbled into love, and now he’s stuck there. He’s fairly used to not getting what he wants, and he’s dealt with it, yet he can’t help but wonder if that’s only because he didn’t want anything too badly. Well, he does now. He looks out at the parking lot. By afternoon he’ll be back where he belongs; his dogs will go crazy when they see him, his mail will be waiting outside his front door, the milk in his refrigerator will still be fresh enough to use in his coffee. The hitch is, he doesn’t want to go. He’d rather be here, crammed into this tiny Honda, his stomach growling with hunger, his desire so bad he doesn’t know if he could stand up straight. His eyes are burning hot, and he knows he can never stop himself when he’s going to cry. He’d better not even try.

“Oh, don’t,” Sally says. She moves closer to him, pulled by gravity, pulled by forces she couldn’t begin to control.

“I just do this,” Gary says in that sad, deep voice. He shakes his head, disgusted with himself. This time he’d prefer to do almost anything but cry. “Pay no attention.”

But she does. She can’t help herself. She shifts toward him, meaning to wipe at his tears, but instead she loops her arms around his neck, and once she does that, he holds her closer.

“Sally,” he says.

It’s music, it’s a sound that is absurdly beautiful in his mouth, but she won’t pay attention. She knows from the time she spent on the back stairs of the aunts’ house that most things men say are lies. Don’t listen, she tells herself. None of it’s true and none of it matters, because he’s whispering that he’s been looking for her forever. She’s halfway onto his lap, facing him, and when he touches her, his hands are so hot on her skin she can’t believe it. She can’t listen to anything he tells her and she certainly can’t think, because if she did she might just think she’d better stop.”
― Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic

“I love you, music man. You are my happily ever after.”
― Rachel Harris, Accidentally Married on Purpose

“My happy place, huh? Well, yeah, I guess that's what music is for me.”
― Rachel Harris, Accidentally Married on Purpose

“For so long music has been my heart, but now it's you...you're my heart.”
― Cassandra Giovanni, Love Exactly

“As she began to peel potatoes, he stood behind her and touched the tendrils of hair that had fallen from their clips and curled at the nape of her neck. Then he reached around her waist and leaned into her. All these years and still he was drawn to the smell of her skin, of sweet soap and fresh air. He whispered against her ear, “Dance with me.”
“What?”
“I said, let’s dance.”
“Dance? Here, in the cabin? I do believe you’re the mad one.”
“Please.”
“There’s no music.”
“We can remember some tune, can’t we?” and he began to hum “In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree.”
“Here,” he said, and swung her around to face him, an arm still at her waist, her slight hand in his.
He hummed louder and began to twirl them around the plank floor.
“Hmmm, hmm, with a heart that is true, I’ll be waiting for you…”
“… in the shade of the old apple tree.” She kissed him on the cheek, and he swept her back on his arm.
“Oh, I’ve thought of one,” she said. “Let me think…” and she began to hum tentatively. Jack didn’t know it at first, but then it came to him and he began to sing along.
“When my hair has all turned gray,” a swoop and a twirl beside the kitchen table, “will you kiss me then and say, that you love me in December as you do in May?”
And then they were beside the woodstove and Mabel kissed him with her mouth open and soft. Jack pulled her closer, pressed their bodies together and kissed the side of her face and down her bare neck and, as she let her head gently lean away, down to her collarbone. Then he scooped an arm beneath her knees and picked her up.
“What in heaven’s—you’ll break your back,” Mabel sputtered between a fit of laughter. “We’re too old for this.”
“Are we?” he asked. He rubbed his beard against her cheek. She shrieked and laughed, and he carried her into the bedroom, though they had not yet eaten dinner.”
― Eowyn Ivey, The Snow Child

“Your love is like star sky showers and magenta unicorns.”
― Delano Johnson, Love Quotes

“The parishioners looked dazed, but happy. The only thing good Catholics love more than God is a short service. Keep your organ music, your choir, keep your incense and processionals. Give us a priest with one eye on the Bible and the other on the clock, and we’ll pack the place like it’s a turkey raffle the week before Thanksgiving.”
― Dennis Lehane, Prayers for Rain

“Kissing him is like falling into a river, some great fierce current carrying me outside of my body, and all around us the music of the water rises and rises, and I can hear the wind moving over the sand, the distant singing of the stars veiled behind their curtain of blue sky, the slow, resonant chords of the earth turning on its axis.”
― Sarah McCarry, All Our Pretty Songs

“Be patient, child!” said the Music. “But she will forget me.” “Do not worry, child. I am there. I shall not forget.”And she stared out at the planets and gentle stars and the galaxies and became forlorn for she had known a special love.“The Universe is so large, just look at it!” she cried. “Believe.” The Music sang.”
― David Paul Kirkpatrick, The Address Of Happiness

“Through all people, the Music of Love would pour, bringing light to the swords that sped through the darkness. And the light of their blades would lead the constellations to their destination.”
― David Paul Kirkpatrick, The Address Of Happiness

“If music be the food of love, play on rock on . William Shakespeare

- love evolution”
― Michelle Mankin, Love Evolution

“If the early English and LA punk bands shared a common sound, the New York bands just shared the same clubs. As such, while the English scene never became known as the '100 Club' sound, CBGBs was the solitary common component in the New York bands' development, transcended once they had outgrown the need to play the club. Even their supposed musical heritage was not exactly common -- the Ramones preferring the Dolls/Stooges to Television's Velvets/Coltrane to Blondie's Stones/Brit-Rock. Though the scene had been built up as a single movement, when commercial implications began to sink in, the differences that separated the bands became far more important than the similarities which had previously bound them together.
In the two years following the summer 1975 festival, CBGBs had become something of an ideological battleground, if not between the bands then between their critical proponents. The divisions between a dozen bands, all playing the same club, all suffering the same hardships, all sharing the same love of certain central bands in the history of rock & roll, should not have been that great. But the small scene very quickly partitioned into art-rockers and exponents of a pure let's-rock aesthetic.”
― Clinton Heylin, From the Velvets to the Voidoids: A Pre-Punk History for a Post-Punk World