Music is the art of sounds in the movement of time.

Music is made up of a large number of individual sounds, and is either a single melody or a part-song.

Music is the space between the notes.

Music is any sound you want to go on and on.

The material of music is sound and silence. Integrating these is composing.

Music is a means capable of expressing dark dramatism and pure rapture, suffering and ecstasy, fiery and cold fury, melancholy and wild merriment – and the subtlest nuances and interplay of these feelings which words are powerless to express and which are unattainable in painting and sculpture.

Music is a mysterious mathematical process whose elements are part of Infinity. … There is nothing more musical than a sunset. He who feels what he sees will find no more beautiful example of development in all that book which, alas, musicians read but too little — the book of Nature.

Music, this complex and mysterious act, precise as algebra and vague as a dream, this art made out of mathematics and air, is simply the result of the strange properties of a little membrane. If that membrane did not exist, sound would not exist either, since in itself it is merely vibration. Would we be able to detect music without the ear? Of course not. Well, we are surrounded by things whose existence we never suspect, because we lack the organs that would reveal them to us. [Was He Mad?]

Music is the outward and audible signification of inward and spiritual realities.

Music is everything that one listens to with the intention of listening to music.

Music is the melody whose text is the world.

Music ‘says’ things about the world, but in specifically musical terms. Any attempt to reproduce these musical statements ‘in our own words’ is necessarily doomed to failure.

Sound is all our dreams of music. Noise is music's dreams of us.

Music is motion from nonrest to rest.