Music is the arithmetic of sounds as optics is the geometry of light.
Claude DebussyRead
On those who overanalyze his music: When you tear the wings off a butterfly, it is no longer a butterfly
Interpretation
Overanalyzing art can strip it of its beauty and essence.
Claude Debussy's quote highlights the idea that excessive scrutiny and analysis can detract from the true essence and beauty of art. Just as removing the wings of a butterfly robs it of its identity and grace, overanalyzing music or any form of art can diminish the emotional impact and the experience intended by the creator.
In practice
This quote is perfect for a discussion during an art class about the interpretation of artistic works.
Music is the arithmetic of sounds as optics is the geometry of light.
The colour of my soul is iron-grey and sad bats wheel about the steeple of my dreams.
But music, don't you know, is a dream from which the veils have been lifted. It's not even the expression of a feeling, it's the feeling itself.
People come to music to seek oblivion: is that not also a form of deception?
Some people wish above all to conform to the rules, I wish only to render what I can hear.
Art is the most beautiful deception of all!
The pen is the language of the soul; as the concepts that in it are generated, such will be its writings.
The trouble with music appreciation in general is that people are taught to have too much respect for music they should be taught to love it instead.
I've spoken often of how the fantasy genre is able to, with the greatest freedom among all the genres, take a metaphor and make it real. But of course that's only the starting point.
In Náhuatl, the language of the Aztec world, one key word for poet was 'tlamatine,' meaning 'the one who knows,' or 'he who knows something.' Poets were considered 'sages of the word,' who meditated on human enigmas and explored the beyond, the realm of the gods.
I've told Kamal Haasan, Amitabh Bachchan, Naseeruddin Shah, Nana Patekar, I just want to touch you. They are the gods of acting. When people call me God, I say, no, I'm still an angel or saint of acting. I still have a long way to go.
All furnished, all in arms;_x000D_ _x000D_ All plum'd like estridges that with the wind_x000D_ _x000D_ Bated like eagles having lately bathed;_x000D_ _x000D_ Glittering in golden coats like images;_x000D_ _x000D_ As full of spirit as the month of May_x000D_ _x000D_ And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer;_x000D_ _x000D_ Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
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