Mark Twain Quotes

The whole beauty of music is that it goes where your words won't let you.

Ecstasy and beauty are eternal.

I think poetry is able to say things in such a small, perfect way that are so hard to say. I think it's a perfect medium for expressing difficult ideas and concepts and feelings. It's one of my great loves.

Music is the cup which holds the wine of silence.

Poetry is the music of the soul, and, above all, of great and feeling souls.

Find expression for a sorrow, and it will become dear to you. Find expression for a joy, and you will intensify its ecstasy.

Music is actually where I see heaven.

Music is the language spoken by angels.

Music was born of love. Had there never been any human affection, there never could have been uttered a strain of music.

We have learned to express the more delicate nuances of feeling by penetrating more deeply into the mysteries of harmony.

Music is one of the ways that God has of beating in on man.

You could say that spirituality is bliss, and bliss is physical happiness, emotional happiness, mental happiness, and spiritual happiness. And it's intense. It's an intense happiness. It brings you together with everything.

I've always been into writing love songs.

The only domain where the divine is visible is that of art, whatever name we choose to call it.

There's a great adage that says we sing because what we have to express can't be spoken, just using words.

Poems don't have to rhyme... Poems are about beauty and emotion; in other words poems are about feelings.

When music sounds, gone is the earth I know, And all her lovelier things even lovelier grow; Her flowers in vision flame, her forest trees Lift burdened branches, stilled with ecstasies. When music sounds, out of the water rise Naiads whose beauty dims my waking eyes, Rapt in strange dream burns each enchanted face, With solemn echoing stirs their dwelling-place. When music sounds, all that I was I am Ere to this haunt of brooding dust I came; And from Time's woods break into distant song The swift-winged hours, as I hasten along.

Jazz is the language of the emotions.

Everybody prays whether [you think] of it as praying or not. The odd silence you fall into when something very beautiful is happening or something very good or very bad. The ah-h-h-h! that sometimes floats up out of you as out of a Fourth of July crowd when the sky-rocket bursts over the water. The stammer of pain at somebody else s pain. The stammer of joy at somebody else's joy. Whatever words or sounds you use for sighing with over your own life. These are all prayers in their way.

I just want to give people something to dance to, and something to cry to, and laugh to and fall in love to.

Music was a thing of the soul — a rose-lipped shell that murmured of the eternal sea — a strange bird singing the songs of another shore.

It doesn't take any imagination at all to feel awed

A thrumming of piano-strings beyond the gardens and through the elms. At length the melody steals into my being. I know not when it began to occupy me. By some fortunate coincidence of thought or circumstance I am attuned to the universe, I am fitted to hear, my being moves in a sphere of melody, my fancy and imagination are excited to an inconceivable degree. This is no longer the dull earth on which I stood.

We are spectacular splendid manifestations of life. We have language. We have affection. And finally, and perhaps best of all, we have music.

Music, the word we use in our everyday language, is nothing less than the picture of our Beloved. It is because music is the picture of our Beloved that we love music.