Music was below and before speech, and it is above and beyond all words. Beneath the waves is the sea – above the clouds is the sky.
Before man found a name for any thought, or thing, he had hopes and fears and passions, and these were rudely expressed in tones.
Of one thing, however, I am certain, and that is, that Music was born of Love. Had there never been any human affection, there never could have been uttered a strain of music. Possibly some mother, looking in the eyes of her babe, gave the first melody to the enraptured air.
Language is not subtle enough, tender enough, to express all that we feel; and when language fails, the highest and deepest longings are translated into music. Music is the sunshine – the climate – of the soul, and it floods the heart with a perfect June.
I am also satisfied that the greatest music is the most marvelous mingling of Love and Death. Love is the greatest of all passions, and Death is its shadow. Death gets all its terror from Love, and Love gets its intensity, its radiance, its glory and its rapture, from the darkness of Death. Love is a flower that grows on the edge of the grave.