Music is like a dream. One that I cannot hear.

There is a music for lonely hearts nearly always.
If the music dies down there is a silence.
Almost the same as the movement of music.
To know silence perfectly is to know music.

"Why is music capable of inflicting such pain? Because it works on our feelings directly. No ideas interfere with its emotions. This is why "all art aspires to the condition of music." The symphony gives us the thrill of uncertainty — the pleasurable anxiety of searching for a pattern — but without the risks of real life. When we listen to music, we are moved by an abstraction. We feel, but we don't know why."

The music is not in the notes, but in the silence between.

The music is not in the notes,
but in the silence between.

Or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.

Music is the occult metaphysical exercise of a soul not knowing
that it philosophizes.

Music for entertainment ... seems to complement the reduction of people to silence, the dying out of speech as expression, the inability to communicate at all. It inhabits the pockets of silence that develop between people molded by anxiety, work and undemanding docility.

Music and silence... combine strongly because music is done with silence, and silence is full of music.

You see, the thing is, I’ve been in jams like this. The feeling is totally there among the musicians (and whoever else happens to be sitting around, whether they’ve paid for it or not, probably, and preferably, not). You are close to silence, Silence with a capital S. You are in tune with silence, the deepest sound of them all. Every sound, therefore, that you make, make with intention, sensitivity, and awareness, has a meaning, an ineffability, a significance. You are listening, Listening with a capital L. You hear what everyone else is doing; you do whatever is necessary, which is usually as little as possible. It has nothing to do with self-expression: it has to do with a group mind.

And in the depths of music, I didn’t find the answer,
And again there was silence, and again the ghost
of summer.

Music moves us, and we know not why;
We feel the tears, but cannot trace their source.
Is it the language of some other state,
Born of its memory ? For what can wake
The soul's strong instinct of another world,
Like music?

Music and silence combine strongly because music is done with silence, and silence is full of music.

To know silence perfectly is to know music.