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Musick! soft charm of heav'n and earth,Whence didst thou borrow thy auspicious birth?Or art thou of eternal date,Sire to thyself, thyself as old as Fate.
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Nile Rodgers, in Front and Center, "The Songwriters Hall of Fame: Nile Rodgers" (2017) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KR2WQyeWTnI
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Of what use is musical knowledge? Here is one idea. Each child spends endless days in curious ways; we call this play. A child stacks and packs all kinds of blocks and boxes, lines them up, and knocks them down. … Clearly, the child is learning about space! ... how on earth does one learn about time? Can one time fit inside another? Can two of them go side by side? In music, we find out!
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Oh, that I wereThe viewless spirit of a lovely sound,A living voice, a breathing harmony,A bodiless enjoyment—born and dyingWith the blest tone which made me!
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Olaf Stapledon, Sirius (1944).
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Old Ballad, in the Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs.
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Old Scotch and North of Ireland ballad. Lady Granville uses it in a letter. (1836).
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Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., Chambered Nautilus.
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One day I said to myself that it would be better to get rid of all that—melody, rhythm, harmony, etc. This was not a negative thought and did not mean that it was necessary to avoid them, but rather that, while doing something else, they would appear spontaneously. We had to liberate ourselves from the direct and peremptory consequence of intention and effect, because the intention would always be our own and would be cir****scribed, when so many other forces are evidently in action in the final effect.
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One man with a dream, at pleasure, Shall go forth and conquer a crownAnd three with a new song's measure Can trample a kingdom down.
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One of my friends whom I hold in high esteem admitted to me the other day that when he wants to work nowadays … he has to turn on his radio. The droning of the loudspeaker—so he says—puts him in a favorable frame of mind and ideas pour out. I cannot help but thinking that this is not the act of a true musician. For thought has a rhythm of its own, which must either clash with the rhythm from outside and lose energy, or else submit to the outer impulse in restless slavery.
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One whom the music of his own vain tongueDoth ravish like enchanting harmony.
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Orpheus with his lute made trees,And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing:To his music, plants and flowersEver sprung; as sun and showers, There had made a lasting spring.
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Oscar Wilde, In the Gold Room, A Harmony.
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Our 'prentice, Tom, may now refuseTo wipe his scoundrel master's shoes;For now he's free to sing and playOver the hills and far away.