Bassoon Quotes

The bassoon is one of my favorite instruments. It has a medieval aroma, like the days when everything used to sound like that. Some people crave baseball...I find this unfathomable, but I can easily understand why a person could get excited about playing the bassoon.

Meanwhile a certain amount of moaning and groaning was coming from upstairs. Sophie kept muttering to the dog and ignored it. A loud, hollow coughing followed, dying away into more moaning. Crashing sneezes followed the coughing, each one rattling the window and all the doors. Sophie found those harder to ignore, but she managed. Poot-pooooot! went a blown nose, like a bassoon in a tunnel. The coughing started again, mingled with moans. Sneezes mixed with the moans and the coughs, and the sounds rose to a crescendo in which Howl seemed to be managing to cough, groan, blow his nose, sneeze, and wail gently all at the same time. The doors rattled, the beams in the ceiling shook, and one of Calcifer’s logs rolled off onto the hearth. “All right, all right, I get the message!” Sophie said, dumping the log back into the grate. “It’ll be green slime next”.

Does a banquet really need an asparagus server?” “Does an orchestra need a bassoon?

It was pleasant to wake up in Florence, to open the eyes upon a bright bare room, with a floor of red tiles which look clean though they are not; with a painted ceiling whereon pink griffins and blue amorini sport in a forest of yellow violins and bassoons. It was pleasant, too, to fling wide the windows, pinching the fingers in unfamiliar fastenings, to lean out into sunshine with beautiful hills and trees and marble churches opposite, and, close below, Arno, gurgling against the embankment of the road.

There once was a brainy baboon who always breathed down a bassoon for he said, It appears that in billions of years I shall certainly hit on a tune.

We get inundated with so many messages about belief, about what is true and what is not, from both our families and our culture, and it’s crucial that every single one of us come to our own well-excavated understanding.

Anything was better than Ezra learning to play the bassoon...

In the smoky firelight the two old men nodded off like a pair of ancient kings passing the aeons in their tumuli. Made a musical notation of their snores. Elgar is to be played by a bass tuba, Ayrs a bassoon.

What other people think of you is none of your business; what you think of other people is ALL of your business.

Manilov was pleased by these final words, but he still couldn't make sense of the deal itself, and for want of an answer, he began sucking his clay pipe so hard that it started to wheeze like a bassoon. He seemed to be trying to extract from it an opinion about this unprecedented business; but the clay pipe only wheezed and said nothing.

These days, the teenage years are considered a time for socializing with a focus on dating and popularity. When relieved of the pressures of dating too young, I believe a young person is better able to focus on who they really are and find themselves in that crucial time when your personality is beginning to germinate. It’s all that time reading, dreaming, and goofing off with fellow oddballs where our best selves get to evolve as teenagers.

The greatest thing ever in the history of the world and of all of human endeavor from time immemorial is stories.

Faith is a knowledge within the heart, beyond the reach of proof.

I was terrified, lost. Like most moments of intense personal tragedy, it was both heartbreaking and a little bit ridiculous.

There have been numerous studies suggesting that one of the most effective ways to reduce poverty is through the education of women and girls. It’s one of the best returns on investment in the developing world, but sixty-six million girls worldwide are not enrolled in school. Educated women spread what they’ve learned to their families and villages and children. Educated girls get pregnant later, have fewer children, and have a far lower infant mortality rate. Educated women and girls have greater power to determine their own fate; earn more; live a rich, fulfilled life; and give back to their communities at a greater level.

Be not the slave of your moods, but their master. But if you are so angry, so depressed and so sore that your spirit cannot find deliverance and peace even in prayer, then quickly go and give some pleasure to someone lowly or sorrowful, or to a guilty or innocent sufferer! Sacrifice yourself, your talent, your time, your rest to another, to one who has to bear a heavier load than you—and your unhappy mood will dissolve into a blessed, contented submission to God.

Teachers can make such a profound impact on our lives and should be honored as heroes, I believe. They’re working for so little money, under such difficult circumstances, usually for the love of the service to the children. Many of us owe who we are to certain teachers who appeared at just the right time, in the right place, and had just the right words to say to propel us on our journey. (ACTIVITY ALERT: Take this opportunity, partway through this ridiculous book, to reach out to a teacher who made an impact on you and THANK THEM. You’ll be so glad you did. And so will they!)

Many of us come to a time in our lives when the beliefs we grew up with collide with the reality of the world we find ourselves living in.

...science and religion are like two wings of the bird of humanity that must work in harmony in order for humankind to survive. Science without religion is materialism and religion without science is mere superstition.

Cinta tak menafikan dan menghapuskan batas dan jarak di antara kalian. Batas dan jarak itu tetap ada. Namun batas itu tidak membelenggu dan jarak itu tidak memisahkan kalian. Elaborasinya serupa orkestra yang tercipta dari gabungan berbagai alat musik. Ada instrumen gesek; biola, viola, cello dan kontra bass. Alat musik tiup; flute, oboe, clarinet, dan bassoon. Alat musik petik; gitar, harpa, ukulele, kecapi. Alat musik perkusi; drum, piano, marimba, timpani. Namun demikian, gabungan dari semua instrumen yang berbeda beda itu bisa membentuk sebuah orkes simfoni yang indah, karena mereka tidak bermain sendiri sendiri. Mereka menyelaraskan bunyi dan nada dalam sebuah kesatuan harmoni yang padu, merdu, indah dan menyentuh hati.

... can I have the heart to fluster the flustered Thipps further—that's very difficult to say quickly—by appearing in a top-hat and frock-coat? I think not. Ten to one he will overlook my trousers and mistake me for the undertaker. A grey suit, I fancy, neat but not gaudy, with a hat to tone, suits my other self better. Exit the amateur of first editions; new motive introduced by solo bassoon; enter Sherlock Holmes, disguised as a walking gentleman.

Gardener made a bonfire of fallen leaves - just came in from it. The heat on one's face and hands, the sad smoke, the crackling and wheezing fire. Reminds me of the groundsman's hut at Gresham. Anyway, got a gorgeous passage from the fire - percussion for crackling, alto bassoon for the wood, and a restless flute for the flames.

FIDDLER JONES The earth keeps some vibration going There in your heart, and that is you. And if the people find you can fiddle, Why, fiddle you must, for all your life. What do you see, a harvest of clover? Or a meadow to walk through to the river? The wind's in the corn; you rub your hands For beeves hereafter ready for the market; Or else you hear the rustle of skirts. Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove. To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth; They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy Stepping it off, to Toor-a-Loor. How could I till my forty acres Not to speak of getting more, With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos Stirred in my brain by crows and robins And the creak of a will-mill – only these? And I never started to plow in my life That some one did not stop in the road And take me away to a dance or picnic. I ended up with forty acres; I ended up with a broken fiddle – And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories, And not a single regret.

Either there is a meaning to the time we spend alive on this physical plane or the only meaning in this universe of stuff and energy is the meaning we create for ourselves.

Every religion is eventually corrupted by its fallible clergy and the slow, inevitable drift toward hollow ritual and empty ceremony… That’s why religion needs refreshing every millennium or so.

My Favorite Kid President Quotes “Create something that will make the world more awesome.” “Treat everybody like it’s their birthday.” “If you can’t think of anything nice to say, you’re not thinking hard enough.” “Be somebody who makes everybody feel like a somebody.” “Give the world a reason to dance!” “Us humans are capable of war and sadness and other terrible stuff. But also CUPCAKES!” “Love changes everything so fill the world with it!” “Grown-ups who dream are the best kinds of grown-ups.” “Don’t be IN a party. BE a party.” And my personal favorite, “Mail someone a corn dog.

Which is your favourite part of the book and why? I like the book all over, but I suppose if I had to choose a bit, I’d choose the place where Howl gets a cold. It so happened that when I was writing this bit, my husband caught a bad cold. He is the world’s most histrionic cold catcher. He moans, he coughs, he piles on the pathos, he makes strange noises, he blows his nose exactly like a bassoon in a tunnel, he demands bacon sandwiches at all hours, and he is liable to appear (usually wrapped in someone else’s dressing gown) at any time, announcing that he is dying of neglect and boredom. So all I had to do was write it down.

He smiled as he imagined the composite Jamie/Isabel, who would play the bassoon, read philosophy, interfere in other people's affairs rather too much, drive a green Swedish car and make legendary potatoes Dauphinoise.

Wanting to hurt, degrade, insult, or discriminate against a person or a group of people because of their sexual orientation is an abomination. I got a firsthand lesson in how deep and grotesque the hate and injustice toward my LGBT comrades run in our culture.

What I learned as a young actor is that no matter how many times you’ve played a role, every single performance is an excavation, a rehearsal in front of an audience, where you play, dig, explore, and unleash your spontaneity to bring a fresh vitality to the character and an unpredictable magic to every moment.

Lakes, carillonst, Pools and bells, Fifes and freshets, Harps and wells; Flutes and rivers, Streams, bassoons, Geysers, trumpets, Chimes lagoons, Hear the music, Drink the water, As we poor lambs All go to slaughter. I love you Eliot. Good-bye. I cry. Tears and violins. Hearts and flowers, Flowers and tears. Rosewater, good-bye.

When I was in the sixth grade I was a finalist in our school spelling bee. It was me against Raj Patel. I misspelled, in front of the entire school, the word “failure.

Oh, and if you are reading this on a computerized reading machine, F@*& YOU!!!

Why do you keep getting in your own way?

For me, that plan led to the defining role of my career, Dwight Kurt Schrute. I was about to receive the worst haircut of my entire life.

Be generous in prosperity, and thankful in adversity. Be worthy of the trust of thy neighbor, and look upon him with a bright and friendly face...

Surely an instrument is neither male nor female—they’re just things that make sound—strings and bows, brass and wood, mallets and cymbals and drumskins and little metal triangles. And yet all you have to do is look around at these musicians to see the way that even sound is gendered. In the middle of the orchestra is the brass section—tubas, trombones, trumpets, French horn, every last one of them played by boys. It’s not all that different in the woodwinds—where the boys play bassoons and clarinets, but all the flutes are played by girls. The strings are even more ridiculous—the deeper the instrument, the more likely it is to be played by a boy. So all the basses? Boys. Most of the cellos? Boys. The violas split half and half. All but one of the violins? Girls. Then there’s the harp, which I guess federal law requires be played by a girl. And the percussion and kettle drums, which are usually played by boys. How weird is this? Most of us decided to play our instruments in third grade, a bunch of little kids who made our choices without even thinking about them. But even at eight years old, we were already running the gender maze that the world had set for us, without even realizing it.

...I was raised to believe that all the races were one human race and that the color of our skin made us beautiful and distinct like the flowers of one human garden. We were taught as children that men and women were equal and that fighting for justice in the world was the “best beloved” of all things in God’s eyes.

Humans have been chewing on the big questions of life since we were dancing by firelight in ancient caves and placing our handprints on the walls, drawing the spirits of the animals we hunted, and telling stories of ancient gods and the mysteries of existence. The ancient Greeks were awfully good at discussing and dissecting

Be generous in prosperity, and thankful in adversity. Be worthy of the trust of thy neighbor, and look upon him with a bright and friendly face. Be a treasure to the poor, an admonisher to the rich, an answerer to the cry of the needy, a preserver of the sanctity of thy pledge. . . . Be a home for the stranger, a balm to the suffering, a tower of strength for the fugitive. Be eyes to the blind, and a guiding light unto the feet of the erring. Be . . . a dew to the soil of the human heart, an ark on the ocean of knowledge, a sun in the heaven of bounty, a gem on the diadem of wisdom, a shining light in the firmament of thy generation, a fruit upon the tree of humility.

We often think that the best way to become happy is to focus more on ourselves, to take better care of ourselves and put our attention on the things that make us happy. While this is important, I’ve found that it often doesn’t work. There’s a strange kind of paradox in happiness. The more we seek it out for ourselves, the harder it often is to find.

Symphony, as I call this aptitude, is the ability to put together the pieces. It is the capacity to synthesize rather than to analyze; to see relationships between seemingly unrelated fields; to detect broad patterns rather than to deliver specific answers; and to invent something new by combining elements nobody else thought to pair. Symphony is also an attribute of the brain’s right hemisphere in the literal, as well as the metaphorical, sense. As I explained in Chapter 2, the neuroscience research conducted with functional MRIs has shown that the right hemisphere operates in a simultaneous, contextual, and symphonic manner. It concerns itself not with a particular spruce but with the whole forest—not with the bassoon player or the first violinist but with the entire orchestra.

AT FIRST, THERE’S only a thread of frost spreading across a pane. Oboe and horn trace out their parallel privacies. The thin sinews wander, an edgy duet built up from bare fourths and fifths. The singer enters, hesitant, hinted by bassoon. She channels a man wrung out after a sleepless night, a father with nothing left to keep safe. Now the sun will rise so brightly . . . The sun rises, but the line sinks. The orchestration, the nostalgic harmonies: everything wrapped in the familiar late nineteenth century, but laced with the coming fever dream. Bassoon and horn rock an empty cradle. Scant, muted violas and cellos in their upper registers enter over a quavering harp. The line wavers between major and minor, bright and dim, peace and grief, like the old hag and lovely young thing who fight for control of the fickle ink sketch. The voice

We need to work on making ourselves better human beings, one day at a time...we must…make the world a better, more just and unified place… There are many ways to positively affect the world...Until all seven billion of us individually, collectively, and politically truly know in our hearts that it is through loving harmony and the pursuit of true collaboration that we can heal the problems of the world, nothing will be attained.

I realized that education was everything...If you want to change the world, education is the key...it is only through education that real change can be effected. Also, education isn’t “charity.”...Charity implies giving out something to people who are less fortunate. It implies “we have” and “you don’t have.” There’s a sense of pity attached to doling out to the poor. Education empowers. It uplifts...Charity makes people dependent. Education makes them independent.

Benjamin Munro was his name. She mouthed the syllables silently, Benjamin James Munro, twenty-six years old, late of London. He had no dependents, was a hard worker, a man not given to baseless talk. He'd been born in Sussex and grown up in the Far East, the son of archaeologists. He liked green tea, the scent of jasmine, and hot days that built towards rain. He hadn't told her all of that. He wasn't one of those pompous men who bassooned on about himself and his achievements as if a girl were just a pretty-enough face between a pair of willing ears. Instead, she'd listened and observed and gleaned, and, when the opportunity presented, crept inside the storehouse to check the head gardener's employment book. Alice had always fancied herself a sleuth, and sure enough, pinned behind a page of Mr. Harris's careful planting notes, she'd found Benjamin Munro's application. The letter itself had been brief, written in a hand Mother would have deplored, and Alice had scanned the whole, memorizing the bits, thrilling at the way the words gave depth and color to the image she'd created and been keeping for herself, like a flower pressed between pages. Like the flower he'd given her just last month. "Look, Alice"- the stem had been green and fragile in his broad, strong hand- "the first gardenia of the season.

old, my mother took us to a production of Hair, a mirage of music, revolution, and raw penis; we gave it a standing ovation. By third grade, I wrote screenplays, confessionals, and fan letters to reporters at the New York Times. I played Suzuki-method violin and picked up the bassoon because it was so awkward and oafish that I felt bad for it. I acted and danced,

Humans have been chewing on the big questions of life since we were dancing by firelight in ancient caves and placing our handprints on the walls, drawing the spirits of the animals we hunted, and telling stories of ancient gods and the mysteries of existence.

7. SUSHI IS ABOUT THE FISH, IDIOTS Sushi is raw fish, Fresh, oily, fatty, delicate, slightly cool, thinly sliced or expertly cubed sections of the delicious nectar of the sea. That’s the whole point of sushi. When you eat rolls slathered with cream cheese, fried onions, flavored mayonnaise, syrup, tempura shrimp poppers, mango chutney, and deep-fried marshmallows, you are missing the entire point of sushi and should just go eat at Applebee’s. (Especially on “Wings ‘n’ Waffles Wednesdays.”) When you roll your piece of sushi in a pool of salty soy sauce, stack a pile of ginger on top of your fish, or wipe the entire surface of the sushi with ewasabi, you are committing a crime against a fish, the ocean, and even the great Poseidon himself. Eat a delicious raw piece of fish, wrapped in a tiny belt of seaweed on a small bed of fluffy rice. Stir a little bit of wasabi into the soy sauce and let a small amount graze the fish itself (without using your rice as a soy sauce sponge). Enjoy the piece in one single bite, and savor the glorious explosion of seafood goodness. You’re welcome, America. And Japan.

Find girl?” He had lost his desire to talk, but the intensity of his emotions drove the words forth. “What did he want with her!” As he spoke, the litter sped past a shop with a zither and a dusty bassoon in its window. But Caldé Silk of Viron did not see them.

Depressing the lever, Nina watched as the two opposing blades opened and shut, then she looked to the Count in wonder. “An asparagus server,” he explained. “Does a banquet really need an asparagus server?” “Does an orchestra need a bassoon?

Picture the furry tendrils of fungal growth that must have been entwining his taint and scrotuscus. Close your eyes and imagine you smell the moist, spidery growths that might have been carpeting his armpits.

We’re each given one life, the life of a fly when measured against eternity.

I got him back by getting depressed

Many of us come to a time in our lives when the beliefs we grew up with collide with the reality of the world we find ourselves living in. It’s a common theme for the twentysomething-or-other.

What was next in my artistic and spiritual journey? Depression.

(You used to be able to wander the streets of NYC with whatever you wanted to ingest and be pretty much left alone by the cops as long as it was in a brown paper bag. And if you were white. Which I was. Very much so.)

I play the guitar, which people think is pretty cool—as opposed to, I don’t know, the bassoon or something,

Fortunately for me, I came out of ray misadventures with drugs and alcohol with my life, health, and soul pretty much intact. I know many who didn't. It's not harmless. I've lost many friends to that way of life. Some have died. Some have simply fried their hard drives for the rest of time or live in a perpetual chemical fog. I'm betting not one of them would say, "It was worth it.

Poetry is Found {Couplet} Poetry's equally found in tangerine moons as in baboons playing bassoons.

Violins sang, brass crowed, while bassoons, she felt, rumbled according to a Richter scale all of their own. Charlie

At least one memory remained vivid: once or twice each night, ----- would turn over in his sleep, his back to her, and play a long note on the buttocks bassoon. Enjoy that adorable quirk.

So Rabbit left Fisher with his sister and the dog to seek out the closest Statewide-associated adult he could find and deliver the message that his chaperone had been shot. His conductor was comatose. He wanted to play Afternoon of a Faun on a bassoon.

As my professor remarked after he heard me say I was learning to play the bassoon, “No, you’re playing the bassoon. Someday you’ll play it better!

Building a product is like making a song. The band is composed of marketing, sales, engineering, support, manufacturing, PR, legal. And the product manager is the producer—making sure everyone knows the melody, that nobody is out of tune and everyone is doing their part. They’re the only person who can see and hear how all the pieces are coming together, so they can tell when there’s too much bassoon or when a drum solo’s going on too long, when features get out of whack or people get so caught up in their own project that they forget the big picture.

When you are able to tell your own story, you heal yourself.

Building a product is like making a song. The band is composed of marketing, sales, engineering, support, manufacturing, PR, legal. And the product manager is the producer—making sure everyone knows the melody, that nobody is out of tune and everyone is doing their part. They’re the only person who can see and hear how all the pieces are coming together, so they can tell when there’s too much bassoon or when a drum solo’s going on too long,

Love is as love does. Love is an act of will--namely, both an intention and an action. Will also implies choice. We do not have to love. We choose to love.

The bassoon is absurd... it takes like an hour to assemble one. They're enormous and are made of Lincoln Logs, aluminum twigs, and paper towel tubes. There are these tiny double wooden reeds that you have to soak and trim and tend to all the time. There's a strap that you actually have to sit on when you play so the whole thing doesn't fall on the floor like a bundle of garbage.

Everyone who is at all successful in comedy has had a secret comedy dork life in their adolescence. Whether it's sitcoms or stand-ups, wallowing in the muck of comedy and repeating classic routines and jokes through your teenage years is what gives every aspiring comic or comedic actor the seed of their absurdist imagination that later takes flower.

Note: I'm going to be talking about working on the television show The Office for a couple chapters now. If you're not interested in the office and purchased this book because you're a big fan of Charmed, SoulPancake, or double reed instruments, I suggest you either skip ahead or cut these chapters out of the book with a pair of cuticle scissors

Maybe it’s a part of the human condition, occasionally feeling that we are isolated dots of consciousness in a meaningless universe that’s whirling around outside of us like sad fireworks.

An asparagus server,” he explained. “Does a banquet really need an asparagus server?” “Does an orchestra need a bassoon?