“music heard so deeplyThat it is not heard at all, butyou are the musicWhile the music lasts.”

“Or music heard so deeplyThat it is not heard at all, but you are the musicWhile the music lasts.”

“You are the music while the music lasts.”

“We shall not cease from explorationAnd the end of all our exploringWill be to arrive where we startedAnd know the place for the first time.Through the unknown, remembered gateWhen the last of earth left to discoverIs that which was the beginning;At the source of the longest riverThe voice of the hidden waterfallAnd the children in the apple-treeNot known, because not looked forBut heard, half-heard, in the stillnessBetween two waves of the sea.—T.S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets (Gardners Books; Main edition, April 30, 2001) Originally published 1943.”

“Words move, music movesOnly in time; but that which is only livingCan only die. Words, after speech, reachInto the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,Can words or music reachThe stillness...”

“There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.”

“For I have known them all already,known them all.Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;I know the voices dying with a dying fall,Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume?”