A Quote by William Shakespeare
How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!
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Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.
The antique, almost primitive band he held between his fingers caught the sunlight, glinting silver. “I found this ring shortly after I was banished from heaven. I kept it to remind myself of how endless my sentence was, how eternal one small choice can be. I’ve kept it a long time. I want you to have it. You broke my suffering. You’ve given me a new eternity. Be my girl, Nora. Be my everything."
I didn't marry. I didn't have children. I followed the food supply for jobs. I kept writing at night. And that kept me moving. It kept my life disruptive. It broke up many relationships. Was it worth it? Yes.
The modelling was fun but I don't see it the same as music, because with modelling, I was just kind of lucky, I just fell into it. I got discovered at a train station when I'd just turned 15, I was working full-time by 16, moved overseas and then just kept at it and made it a life. Whereas with my music, I've really struggled through and worked hard, learnt how to write and I've kept developing that.
I saw how, when my brother smoked reefer, it made my mother cry. He was 16 at the time. And I saw that she broke down and cried. I never wanted to hurt my mother, so I kept away from drugs.
Sometimes, when I play music, I feel as if I am giving life. ... It isn't just notes on the paper anymore: you are recreating the thought, transmitting it. It becomes shareable, but it can never be kept. You go through and at the same time you let go of the experience. That is part of the wonder of music: it can never be kept; it is ephemeral and at the same time enduring.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony
I often begin movies with music in my head; it's a very important dimension to me. Not just the music itself, but how to use music in film: when and how and subtlety. I don't like to be too sweet in my stories, and I like the abrasive clang, the contrasting of sounds and cultures.
Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,/ The bee's collected treasure sweet,/ Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet/ The still small voice of gratitude.
When I started filming '2 Broke Girls,' I actually was broke, so I was eating all the junk food they kept on set. But then I developed a skin rash that lasted over six months. The doctors said that it was due to stress, my diet, and lack of exercise.
How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. ... You have been mine before, How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall - I knew it all of yore. Has this been thus before? And shall not thus time's eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore In death's despite, And day and night yield one delight once more
I kept my culture. I kept the music of my roots. Through my music I became this voice and image of Africa and the people without even realising.
I am obsessed with proportion, and how proportion is perceived.
The weird thing is that 'Maestro' has somehow improved my DJing. When you've been in this music as long as I've been, you can sometimes become jaded. And when I got back from 'Maestro,' I realised the music is being kept in time for me - all I have to do is to wrap as much dynamic around it as I can. DJs don't realise how lucky we are.
Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere;
Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough;
Sweet is the eglantine, but stiketh nere;
Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough;
Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough;
Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;
Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough;
And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.
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