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Samuel Rogers, Human Life, line 363.
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Søren Kierkegaard Either/Or Part I, Swenson p. 66-67.
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Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease,And my fingers wandered idly Over the noisy keys.I do not know what I was playing, Or what I was dreaming then,But I struck one chord of music Like the sound of a great Amen.
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See to their desks Apollo's sons repair,Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair!In unison their various tones to tune,Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon;In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute,Tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute,Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp,Winds the French-horn, and twangs the tingling harp;Till, like great Jove, the leader, figuring in,Attunes to order the chaotic din.
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She played upon her music-box a fancy air by chance,And straightway all her polka-dots began a lively dance.
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Sidney Lanier, The Symphony.
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Singing
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Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici (1642), Part II, Section IX. Use of the phrase "Music of the Spheres" given by Bishop Martin Fotherby, Athconastrix, p. 315. (Ed. 1622). Said by Bishop John Wilkins, Discovery of a New World, I. 42. (Ed. 1694).
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So dischord ofte in musick makes the sweeter lay.
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So much of the research on musical expertise has looked for accomplishment in the wrong place, in the facility of the fingers rather than the expressiveness of emotion.
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Soft is the music that would charm forever:The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.
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Someday you will be a man, And you will be the leader of a big old band. Many people coming from miles around To hear you play your music when the sun go down Maybe someday your name will be in lights Saying Johnny B. Goode tonight.
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Sometimes even in the habitual course of life, the reality of this world disappears all at once, and we feel ourselves in the middle of its interests as we should at a ball, where we did not hear the music; the dancing that we saw there would appear insane.
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Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet;For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeatThe words, her heart may knowWhat secret makes them so. Love, only Love.
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Soprano, basso, even the contra-altoWished him five fathom under the Rialto.