All Quotes By Tag: Sound

“Marie-Louise Mallet emphasizes the decreased control over the experience of listening as opposed to looking:To look is to choose one’s point of view. [ . . . ] To listen is to be “touched” without ever being able to touch what touches us, without being able to seize or retain it. [ . . . ] It is to hear what one listens to take its distance, lose itself like a fleeting echo. To listen is to not be able to maintain, to keep present. It is not being able to retain. It’s to not be able to come back. [ . . . ] What has been heard will be kept only in memory, that is, kept as lost, without ever assuring that we have heard well, without being able to reassure ourselves.”

“Alex closed his eyes and listened: a storefront gate sliding down. A dog barking hoarsely. The lowing of trucks over bridges. The velvety night in his ears. And the hum, always that hum, whih maybe wasn’t an echo after all, but the sound of time passing.th blu nytthe stRs u cant cth hum tht nevr gOs awyA sound of clicking heels on the pavement punctured the quiet. Alex snapped open his eyes, and he and Bennie both turned – whirled, really, peering for Sasha in the ashy dark. But it was another girl, young and new to the city, fiddling with her keys.” (p. 336)”

“A sound idea is a form of energy. It can not be destroyed. It evolves from inspiration, to a function of preparation, then determination – till the ideator’s dream becomes actualized in real lifeAt the very least, success is a second iteration of the original, unscripted IdeaSo your idea refinement process needs to be test-drivenTestDetermine on time if investment in terms of effort and time is worth itWork SmartFail early, fail often,Success lies on the paths yet to be treaded,Open your mind,Think Disruption,Be FlexibleBe AGILEI think this is an idea worth sharing”

“Music is the fastest motivator in the world.”

“Without the wetness of your love, the fragrance of your water, or the trickling sounds of your voice I shall always feel thirsty.”

“I paid the taxi driver, got out with my suitcase, surveyed my surroundings, and just as I was turning to ask the driver something or get back into the taxi and return forthwith to Chillán and then to Santiago, it sped off without warning, as if the somewhat ominous solitude of the place had unleashed atavistic fears in the driver’s mind. For a moment I too was afraid. I must have been a sorry sight standing there helplessly with my suitcase from the seminary, holding a copy of Farewell’s Anthology in one hand. Some birds flew out from behind a clump of trees. They seemed to be screaming the name of that forsaken village, Querquén, but they also seemed to be enquiring who: quién, quién, quién. I said a hasty prayer and headed for a wooden bench, there to recover a composure more in keeping with what I was, or what at the time I considered myself to be. Our Lady, do not abandon your servant, I murmured, while the black birds, about twenty-five centimetres in length, cried quién, quién, quién. Our Lady of Lourdes, do not abandon your poor priest, I murmured, while other birds, about ten centimetres long, brown in colour, or brownish, rather, with white breasts, called out, but not as loudly, quién, quién, quién, Our Lady of Suffering, Our Lady of Insight, Our Lady of Poetry, do not leave your devoted subject at the mercy of the elements, I murmured, while several tiny birds, magenta, black, fuchsia, yellow and blue in colour, wailed quién, quién, quién, at which point a cold wind sprang up suddenly, chilling me to the bone.”

“I woke up early and took the first train to take me away from the city. The noise and all its people. I was alone on the train and had no idea where I was going, and that’s why I went there. Two hours later we arrived in a small town, one of those towns with one single coffee shop and where everyone knows each other’s name. I walked for a while until I found the water, the most peaceful place I know. There I sat and stayed the whole day, with nothing and everything on my mind, cleaning my head. Silence, I learned, is some times the most beautiful sound.”

“The silence of the pen is only made louder by the sound of the ink running dry.”

“How I wish I was like the water,Flowing so freely with every dropLet my every emotion wonder,No need to start, nor even stopHow I wish I was like the fire,Burning with every flame upLeaving a trace of hot desireAs a Phoenix raises its’ wings upHow I wish I was like the earth,Raising each flower from the groundSeeing the beauty of death and birthAnd then returning to the groundHow I wish I was like the wind,Hearing each whisper, sound and thoughtA lonesome and wandering little wind,Shattering all that has been soughtOh, how I wish I was where you are,Not separated by empty space, so farIt seems like we’re galaxies apart,But we find hope within our heartAnd how I wish I was all of the above,So I can come below and yet forget,The beauty of angels which come down like a doveAnd demons who love with no regret.”

“It is a beautiful symphony: the sound of the typewriter keys on paper!”

“There is no competition of sounds between a nightingale and a violin.”

“Music is a mixed mathematical science that concerns the origens, attributes, and distinctions of sound, out of which a cultivated and lovely melody and harmony are made, so that God is honored and praised but mankind is moved to devotion, virtue, joy, and sorrow.”

“The patter of rain is a chorus of raindrops.”

“Noise is only deafening if we listen to the echoes.”

“Stereo my voice today!”