Life is like the harp string, if it is strung too tight it won't play, if it is too loose it hangs, the tension that produces the beautiful sound lies in the middle.
Your body is the harp of the soul.
Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.
And tears are heard within the harp I touch.
Your body is the harp of your soul and it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds.
What is a harp but an oversized cheese slicer with cultural pretensions?
Kindness is the music of Good Will to men, and on this harp the smallest fingers may play heaven's sweetest tunes on earth.
And even if this world burns up hidden harps will still play here.
We all share in the same cosmic rhythm... For all natural laws are like the rhythm of the strings of the harp.
Harpists spend 90 percent of their lives tuning their harps and 10 percent playing out of tune.
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.
The willow tree plays the water like a harp.
The poets did well to conjoin music and medicine, in Apollo, because the office of medicine is but to tune the curious harp of man's body and reduce it to harmony.
The perfection of conversation is not to play a regular sonata, but, like the AEolian harp, to await the inspiration of the passing breeze.
Each string of a wind harp responds with a different note to the same breeze. What activity makes you personally resonate most strongly, most deeply?
I can pass days Stretch'd in the shade of those old cedar trees, Watching the sunshine like a blessing fall,-- The breeze like music wandering o'er the boughs, Each tree a natural harp,--each different leaf A different note, blent in one vast thanksgiving.
Nature is an aeolian harp, a musical instrument whose tones are the re-echo of higher strings within us.
My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.
And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversely framed, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps, Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the soul of each, and God of all?
A happy union with wife and child is like the music of lutes and harps.
Hills tell old stories. Cliffs are poets with harps.
The harp sounds at each passing breeze, but that does not mean the tune is masterfully played.
While a man is stringing a harp, he tries the strings, not for music, but for construction. When it is finished it shall be played for melodies. God is fashioning the human heart for future joy. He only sounds a string here and there to see how far His work has progressed.
The actor should not play a part. Like the Aeolian harps that used to be hung in the trees to be played only by the breeze, the actor should be an instrument played upon by the character he depicts.
Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
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