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Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels.
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Wynton Marsalis in Smithsonian Magazine, November 2005.
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Yea, music is the Prophet's artAmong the gifts that God hath sent,One of the most magnificent!
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Yet half the beast is the great god Pan, To laugh, as he sits by the river,Making a poet out of a man.The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain—For the reed that grows never more again As a reed with the reeds of the river.
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You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass.
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[S]o far as music ever had a "meaning" beyond the immediate and exquisite value of the sound-pattern itself, its "meaning" must be simply an emotional attitude. It could never speak directly about the objective world, or "the nature of existence"; but it might create a complex emotional attitude which might be appropriate to some feature of the objective world, or to the universe as a whole.