A Quote by Edgar Allan Poe
And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave.
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The amazing thing about the cistern is that, if you're improvising in a dead room, you play your note and then you're left with your thoughts and you have to be really quick on your feet and be able to move through many different musical thoughts seamlessly. Improvising there is just, like, you play a note and then you had at least ten seconds to think, "What would be the perfect accompanying note to that?" And then you could add that note. You can just build this puzzle that was really amazing.
I ne'er was struck before that hour with love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower and stole my heart away complete
The Democrats say the rich are rich because they stole all of their money or somehow fleeced the poor for all of their money. "If it weren't for these cheating, skunk, lying, rich people, you poor people would have the money! You remember when you had this, right? You remember when you had that house on the beach and your Rolls-Royce, and then one day some rich guy came over and stole it all from you? You remember that? So you want to vote for Obama and the Democrats to get your house back and your Rolls-Royce 'cause you remember when Koch brothers came and took it from you."
I quite fancy having a hover car, but I don't fancy everyone having one. Because I feel like I spend quite a lot of time stuck in traffic on the 405 but if everybody had one then they'd be scared and we'd crash, but if it was just me, then I think I would zoom home quite fast. I also quite fancy a phone attached to my hand but then I don't know if I fancy it being stuck to my body.
I feel that as a writer and as a performer too. I never really thought about backstory for characters. It was much more of a musical approach: You learn a melody, and then you sing it, I suppose, or you find a rhythm or a cadence that works for the material. And then it's sort of about hitting that note correctly and finding those beats.
Criticism must never be sharpened into anatomy. The delicate veins of fancy may be traced, and the rich blood that gives bloom and health to the complexion of thought be resolved into its elements. Stop there. The life of the imagination, as of the body, disappears when we pursue it.
When I was five - it's not even bad - I stole a sweet from the sweet shop.
Sweet,” he whispered, and stole a kiss from her lips. “Sweet… let me stay with you a little longer.” -Jack to Amanda
You need particular note or rhythm in the symphony to be that minor key, or that sharp key or major chord. In musical terms, I try to hit the right note. But not alter the score of the music, just emphasize the note correctly.
I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June
When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
And groves a joyous sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make,
The rich, green mountain-turf should break.
I was Danny Zuko in 'Grease,' and I was in the musical 'Sweet Charity' and then in the musical 'On the Twentieth Century.' They were great. I mean, singing isn't really my strong suit, but I just really enjoyed it.
I taught myself to play the guitar by listening to Paul Simon records, working it out note by note. He is an incredibly intelligent musician. He's not someone who has a natural outpouring of melody like McCartney or Dylan, who are just terribly prolific with musical ideas.
The oligarchic character of the modern English commonwealth does not rest, like many oligarchies, on the cruelty of the rich to the poor. It does not even rest on the kindness of the rich to the poor. It rests on the perennial and unfailing kindness of the poor to the rich.
If I can play one note and make you cry, then that's better than those fancy dancers playing twenty notes.
I don't know fancy big words, because I didn't have a rich mother who sent her to fancy schools.
Christendom never came from an unbroken grave. It would have been buried in that grave, as Judas thought it was going to be, and as the Jews thought it was going to be, except there had been a resurrection from the dead. Then you can explain Christendom, churches, and literatures, if Christ rose again; but otherwise they cannot be explained at all. Our whole civilization rests on the broken Cross of the Master, and it is incredible that a civilization like this, in a world advancing steadily for eighteen centuries, has been founded on a lie.
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