Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on ...

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"All deep things are song.  It seems somehow the very central essence of us, song; as if all the rest were but wrappages and hulls!" - Thomas Carlyle "If a composer could say what he had to say in words he would not bother trying to say it in music." - Gustav Mahler "Men profess to be lovers of music, but for the most part they give no evidence in their opinions and lives that they have heard it." - Henry David Thoreau ...

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