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You have to take what you can get out of the music. It's different for everyone, but you have to pay attention and appreciate each piece in order for it to speak to you.
I had no idea what the lyrics were in the song, but his voice wrapped around my head, weaving through my hair, and whispered into my ears that made me drunk with a feeling I never felt before.
Yeah, you and me, we can ride on a starIf you stay with me, girlWe can rule the worldYeah, you and me, we can light up the skyIf you stay by my sideWe can rule the world
Maybe the definition of a real father is someone who accepts their child for who they are, despite their faults or how far they've strayed from the path of the person you hoped they'd become.
That mountain of courage I had been building inside me for the past several months began crumbling, tumbling down, and gaining speed like an avalanche.
The love song I wrote that day... I got embarrassed and never sang it for her.Oh yeah... I'll sing it to her when I go home.I'll go home.I'll hurry home.
Sometimes your music sounds like there’s too much inside you. Maybe even you couldn’t get it all out. Maybe that’s why you died. Like you exploded from the inside.
But who cares? Memory isn't about reality, and neither is music. It's about the comforting reflections we want to hold on to, even if they're mostly bullshit.
The only life that matters is in your mind. The only truth is the one that lives invisibly, that waits even after you close the book. Silence, too, is a kind of music. Silence will last.
And the waitress is practicing politicsAs the businessmen slowly get stonedYes, they're sharing a drink they call lonelinessBut its better than drinkin' alone
Bowie talks in great, voluble torrents, darting from one topic to the next, parenthesizing and then parenthesizing the parentheses, as if he has too many ideas for one conversation.
Reese sucked in a breath and played faster, hurling the anger through his fingers until it spun all hisfear, all his rage, into the gentle voice of music.