And then there came the pounding of another drum, as if another giant were coming yards behind him, and each giant, intent on his own drum, gave no notice to the rhythm of the other. The sound grew louder and louder until it seemed to fill not just my hearing but all my senses, to be throbbing in my lips and fingers, in the flesh of my temples, in my veins.
Interpretation
This quote illustrates the power of music and sound as a deeply immersive experience that can touch all senses.
In this quote by Anne Rice, the author evokes the profound and overwhelming nature of sound, likening it to the individual journeys of giants each focused on their own rhythm, creating a symphony that envelops and invigorates the senses. This metaphor suggests that while each person or entity pursues their own path and purpose, there exists a collective resonance that ultimately connects us through shared experiences, highlighting the beauty and intensity of life's intricate soundscapes.
In practice
Use this quote in a speech about the impact of music on human emotions.
From my stone pillow I have dreamed dreams of the mortal world above. I have heard its voices, its new music, as lullabies as I lie in my grave. I have envisioned its fantastical discoveries. I have known its courage in the timeless sanctum of my thoughts. And though it shuts me out with its dazzling forms, I long for one with the strength to roam it fearlessly, to ride the Devil's Road through its heart.
We all suffer under a curse, the curse that we know more than we can endure, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing we can do about the force and the lure of this knowledge.
And so this young one, this young one whom I had so loved, I had to forsake, no matter how broken my heart, no matter how lonely my soul, no matter how bruised my intellect and spirit.
Dear God, help me. Do not forget me on this tiny cinder lost in a galaxy that is lost–a heart no bigger than a speck of dust beating, beating against death, against meaninglessness, against guilt, against sorrow.
The vampires have always been metaphors for me. They've always been vehicles through which I can express things I have felt very, very deeply.
In the very depths of Hell, do not demons love one another?
A poet is someone who stands outside in the rain hoping to be struck by lightning.
Poetry is prose bewitched, a music made of visual thoughts, the sound of an idea.
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?
I don't want people confusing what it is that I'm about. I just stand there and sing. And I don't do stunts or anything. if I wanted to do all that, I don't think I'd get away with it.
We would sift through every inch of what it was that worked, or if it didn't, and wonder what was effective in it, in terms of paint, the subject matter, the size, the drawing.
All melodious poets shall be hoarse as street ballads, when once the penetrating keynote of nature and spirit is sounded-the earth-beat, sea-beat, heart-beat, which make the tune to which the sun rolls, and the globule of blood and the sap of the trees.
Subscribe for the occasional hand-picked quote. No noise.