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George Eliot, Stradivarius, line 151.
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George Farquhar, Over the Hills and Far Away, Act II, scene 3.
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George Santayana, Life of Reason (1905) vol. 4, ch. 4
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Georges Duhamel, In Defense of Letters (1937), E. Bozman, trans. (1939), p. 34
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Gerard Manley Hopkins, "The Habit of Perfection"
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Germaine de Staël, De l'Allemagne (1813) Information gathered from the Quote Investigator.
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Gilles Deleuze, from his Essays Critical and Clinical, p. 104.
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Give me some music; music, moody foodOf us that trade in love.
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God is its author, and not man; he laidThe key-note of all harmonies; he plannedAll perfect combinations, and he madeUs so that we could hear and understand.
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Green, Lucy (1999). "Ideology". Key Terms in Popular Music and Culture. ISBN 0631212639.
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Guitar
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Hark! the numbers soft and clear,Gently steal upon the ear;Now louder, and yet louder riseAnd fill with spreading sounds the skies.
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He is dead, the sweet musician! * * * *He has moved a little nearerTo the Master of all music.
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He sat still a long time. Music will not save us, Otto Egorin had said. Not you, or me, or her, the big golden-voiced woman who had no children and wanted none; not Lehmann who sang the song; not Schubert who had written it and was a hundred years dead. What good is music? None, Gaye thought, and that is the point. To the world and its states and armies and factories and Leaders, music says, “you are irrelevant”; and, arrogant and gentle as a god, to the suffering man it says only, “Listen.” For being saved is not the point. Music saves nothing. Merciful, uncaring, it denies and breaks down all the shelters, the houses men build for themselves, that they may see the sky.
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He stood beside a cottage lone, And listened to a lute,One summer's eve, when the breeze was gone, And the nightingale was mute.