It is not given me to trace
The lovely laughter of that face,
Like a clear brook most full of light,
Or olives swaying on a height,
So silver they have wings, almost;
Like a great word once known and lost
And meaning all things. Nor her voice
A happy sound where larks rejoice,
Her body, that great loveliness,
The tender fashion of her dress,
I may not paint them.
These I see,
Blazing through all eternity,
A fire-winged sign, a glorious tree!
But one is forced to translate thought into action and action into object.. ..I am not a teacher who tells his students only to think. I say: act; do something: I ask for result. It may take different forms. It can have the form of sound, or someone can do a book, make a drawing or a sculpture. I dont care..
As absurd as it might sound, there's a strange synergy between very bad movies and very good ones. That's because films on either extreme of the quality scale have the ability to burrow deep into the subconscious, with unpredictable and occasionally remarkable results. Great works of art can cause euphoria, touch a deep emotional chord, or, in rare cases, affect fundamental changes in a person's outlook on life. Conversely, viewing unwatchable tripe can be damaging, possibly resulting in psychotic episodes, an appreciation of '70s fashion, or leaping to the defense of Pauly Shore. There's something almost profound about enduring a horrifically inept piece of cinema, and Coyote Ugly, living up to every letter in its name, offers the opportunity for such an experience.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
No sound save the rush of the river,
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead
The picket s off duty forever.
Yeah exactly, so if anyone's bummed that The Mars Volta record's too simple or too pop, they can buy that album and it'll take them right back to that kind of sound. It's one of my favourite things I've ever worked on. It's pretty much a Mars Volta record, just without Thomas, Ikey, and Marcel. With Volta [Octahedron] was just our acoustic record that turned into our pop record.
Sing louder around
To the bells' cheerful sound,
While our sports shall be seen
On the ecchoing green.
How have you left the ancient love
That bards of old enjoyed in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move!
The sound is forced, the notes are few!
Sit and be still
until in the time
of no rain you hear
beneath the dry wind's
commotion in the trees
the sound of flowing
water among the rocks,
a stream unheard before,
and you are where
breathing is prayer.
Soap opera rappers, all these niggas sound like All My Children.
And I love it when your hair still wet cause you just took a shower. Runnin on a treadmill and only eating salad. Sound so smart like you graduated college, like you went to Yale but you probably went to Howard.
Just close your eyes,
The sun is going down.
You'll be alright,
No one can hurt you now.
Come morning light.
You and I'll be safe & sound.
Come morning light, you and I will be safe and sound.
I got to play Kim in Bye Bye Birdie, Sandy in Grease, and Maria in The Sound of Music. And it was so much fun for me, but the thing that I looked forward to the most was at the cast parties. After the shows they had karaoke machines set up and that's when I could sing country music.
When I finally gathered, invented, stole, simplified, borrowed, and found a publisher for a clutch of reasonably foolproof recipes, I learned I had friends I hadn't known aboutmore proof that a mutual dislike can be quite as sound a basis for friendship as a mutual devotion.
The plum tree in the yard's so small
It's hardly like a tree at all.
Yet there it is, railed round
To keep it safe and sound.
The poor thing can't grow any more
Though if it could it would for sure.
There's nothing to be done
It gets too little sun.
I've been told I sound like I'm out of an old movie; that perhaps I'm faking my voice, that it's nice, that it's not nice all kinds of things. Well it's my voice. The only thing I can think of is sometimes you're in one mood or another mood, and so maybe it sounds a little different, but I've always spoken this way and I'm trying to sound pleasant I hope it does sound pleasant, but that's about it.
Everything smelled of sheep. The dandelions were suddenly more sheep than flower, each petal reflecting wool and the sound of a bell ringing off the yellow. But the thing that smelled the most like sheep, was the sun itself. When the sun went behind a cloud, the smell of sheep decreased, like standing on some old guy's hearing aid, and when the sun came back again, the smell of the sheep was loud, like a clap of thunder inside a cup of coffee.