Stories are consoling, fiction is one of the consolation prizes for having lived in the world
Music is the literature of the heart; it commences where speech ends
Sometimes words are not enough
Tears are words the heart can’t express
A word is not a crystal, transparent and unchanged, it is the skin of a living thought and may vary greatly in color and content according to the circumstances and the time in which it is used
A writer lives in awe of words for they can be cruel or kind, and they can change their meanings right in front of you. They pick up flavors and odors like butter in a refrigerator.
Words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes.
Boys flying kites haul in their white-winged birds;
You can call back your kites, but you can’t call back your words.
“Careful with fire” is good advice, we know;
“Careful with words” is ten times doubly so.
Thoughts unexpressed will often fall back dead.
But God Himself can’t kill them, once they are said!
(Will Carleton, The First Settler’s Story).
Where words fail, music speaks.