Oh, the music in the air!
An’ the joy that’s ivrywhere –
Shure, the whole blue vault of heaven is wan grand triumphal arch,
An’ the earth below is gay
Wid its tender green th’-day,
Fur the whole world is Irish on the Seventeenth o’ March!
The sound of tireless voices is the price we pay for the right to hear the music of our own opinions.
The joy of music should never be interrupted by a commercial.
To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the inner music the words make.
Spring: the music of open windows.