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“I know him, that man
walking- toward me up the crowded street
of the city, I have lived with him
seven years now, I know his fast stride,
his windy wheatfield hair, his hands thrust
deep in his jacket pockets, hands
that have known my body, touched
its softest part, caused its quick shudders
and slow releasings, I have seen his face
above my face, his mouth smiling, moaning
his eyes closed and opened, I have studied
his eyes, the brown turning gold at the centers,
I have silently watched him lying beside me
in the early morning, I know his loneliness,
like mine, human and sad,
but different, too, his private pain
and pleasure I can never enter even as he comes
closer, past trees and cars, trash and flowers,
steam rising from the manhole covers,
gutters running with rain, he lifts his head,
he sees me, we are strangers again,
and a rending music of desire and loss—
I don’t know him—courses through me,
and we kiss and say, It’s good to see you,
as if we haven’t seen each other in years
when it was just a few hours ago,
and we are shy, then, not knowing
what to say next.”
― Susan Browne

“A woman bathed in gold came out and took a seat at a piano keyboard. Behind her a second woman, dressed in similar fashion, came to sit nearby with her violin. The pianist’s fingers began to dance across the keyboard, giving it a voice. Her hands were a work of art, speaking a language that predated words.”
― Kayla Cunningham, Fated to Love You

“The world knows the love that’s in its breast as in the flower, the suffering lonely world. — Allen Ginsberg, from “Transcription of Organ Music,” Howl and Other Poems (City Lights Books, 1994)”
― Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems

“To me, it is god. A divine mystery in whose power I will forever hold an unconditional trust. And it is moments like these that cement my faith. So, when you hear that parade coming down the street, spreading joy and love with every note, don’t just listen; join in the march. You never know where it may lead you.”
― Dave Grohl, The Storyteller: Tales of Life and Music

“Celebrate life
through the music
through the spoken word
through the splatter of colour on paper
or wood
or iron
or canvas
But celebrate your life
Celebrate your ability to
feel joy and sadness
Celebrate your ability to feel!
Only then will we be free to feel”
― Tupac Shakur, The Rose That Grew From Concrete

“It seems that she knew and loved women as deeply as she did music. Can we leave that matter there? As Gertrude Stein says:

'She ought to be a very happy woman. Now we are able to recognize a photograph. We are able to get what we want.'
-Marry Nettie, Gertrude Stein Writings (1903-1932)”
― Anne Carson, If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho

“Romantics are especially aware of all that lies outside rational explanation, all that cannot neatly be summarized in words. They sense, especially late at night or in the vastness of nature, the scale of the mysteries humanity is up against. The impulse to categorize and to master intellectually is for Romantics a distinct form of vanity, like trying to draw up a list in a hurricane. There is a time when we must surrender to emotion, feel rather than try relentlessly to categorize and make sense of things. We can think too much – and grow sick from trying to pass the complexities of existence through the sieve of the conscious mind. We should more often be guided by our instincts and the voice of nature within us.
Decisions must not always be probed too hard, or moods unpacked. We should respect and not tinker with emotions, especially as they relate to love and the spiritual varieties of experience. We need to fall silent – more frequently than we do – and simply listen. Sometimes the best way to honour the ineffable is through unclear language and obscure modes of expression. The supreme Romantic art form is music.”
― Alain de Botton

“This music is loving me without condition.

This Kalpop music is loving me without a million so believe and try, calm the heart down with some Kalpop spell”
― DON SANTO

“I must quote from Dr. Faustus, with which the tragedy ends: "Often he talked of eternal grace, the poor man, and I don't know if it will be enough. But an understanding heart, believe me, is enough for everything."
Let us understand these words correctly. They are not proud or arrogant; on the contrary they are desperately modest. We really do not know any longer whether grace is enough, precisely because we are as we are and are beginning to see ourselves as we are. But at a time of overwhelming crisis, the questionable nature of grace, or rather our knowledge that we are unworthy of grace, compels us to understand and love mankind, the fallible mankind that we ourselves are. Behind this abysmal crisis, the archetype of the Eternal Feminine as earth and as Sophia would seem to be discernible; it is no accident that these words are spoken by Frau Schweigestill, the mother. That is to say, it is precisely in chaos, in hell, that the New makes its appearance. Did not Kwanyin descend into hell rather than spend her time with the serene music makers in heaven?”
― Erich Neumann, Man and Time: Papers from the Eranos Yearbooks

“Perhaps happiness is in the eyes of our loved ones and we only need to look, to put on some music, take their hand and dance. It's not something we can truly own. We certainly can't purchase it.”
― Jamie Cat Callan, Bonjour, Happiness!: Secrets to Finding Your Joie de Vivre

“Children, awkward, isolate, their bodies crammed to bursting with caffein and sugar and pop music and cologne and perfume and hairgel and pimple cream and growth hormone-treated hamburger meat and premature sex drives and costly, fleeting, violent sublimations. It's all part of the conspiracy . . . all of it trying to convince them that they're here to be trained for lives of adventure and glamor and heroism, when in fact they're here only to be trained for more of the same, for lives of plunking in the quarters, paying a premium for the never-ending series of shabby fantasies to come, the whole lifelong laser light show of glamorous degradation and habitual novelty and fun-loving murder and global isolation.”
― Alex Shakar, The Savage Girl

“The thought arrested her and she pulled away from him just to stand there a moment and take in the strangeness of it all. Music drifted down to her then, an odd tinkling sort of music with a rippling rhythmic undercurrent that seemed to tug the melody in another direction altogether, into the depths of a deep churning sea, but beautiful for all that, and so perfect and unexpected. She felt languid and free--all eyes were on her, every man turning to stare--and it came to her that she loved this place, this moment, these people. She could stay here forever, right here, in the gentle sway of the Japanese night.”
― T.C. Boyle, The Women

“We live in a world packed with desensitising forces, that strip the world of magic. The world is full of negativity, but we fight back with positivity. We're inspired by oceans, forests, animals, Marx Brothers films. We can't help but project uplifting vibrations, because we love each other so much and get off on playing together.”
― Dave Thompson, Red Hot Chilli Peppers: By the Way: The Biography

“If we are to experience true worship, our love for God has to supersede our love of anyone and anything else.”
― R.L. Evans, Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs: Understanding the Call to Worship (3 Books in 1)

“hope had become despair, protestors had become terrorists, love had become sex, music had become noise, and us had become me.”
― Susan R. Sloan, Guilt by Association

“I cringed as the band oozed into the next chord. If notes were cars, I think there was a D major under the wreckage.”
― Mary Hughes, Biting Nixie

“Maria was staring at me like I was wearing purple socks.
‘Wow,” she said. “That’s exactly what music is.’
And then she started crying again. But this time, she wept quietly.
‘You understand,” she said. 'You really understand.”
― Sherman Alexie, Radioactive Love Song

“In prison, I fell in love with my country. I had loved her before then, but like most young people, my affection was little more than a simple appreciation for the comforts and privileges most Americans enjoyed and took for granted. It wasn't until I had lost America for a time that I realized how much I loved her.
"I loved what I missed most from my life at home: my family and friends; the sights and sounds of my own country; the hustle and purposefulness of Americans; their fervid independence; sports; music; information--all the attractive qualities of American life. But though I longed for the things at home I cherished the most, I still shared the ideals of America. And since those ideals were all that I possessed of my country, they became all the more important to me.”
― John McCain, Faith of My Fathers: A Family Memoir

“What other words, we may almost ask, are memorable and worthy to be repeated than those which love has inspired? It is wonderful that they were ever uttered. They are few and rare indeed, but, like a strain of music, they are incessantly repeated and modulated by memory. All other words crumble off with the stucco which overlies the heart. We should not dare to repeat these now aloud. We are not competent to hear them at all times. ”
― Henry David Thoreau