Handel Quotes

Raphael paints wisdom, Handel sings it, Phidias carves it, Shakespeare writes it, Wren builds it, Columbus sails it, Luther preaches it, Washington arms it, Watt mechanizes it.

After all, there was something rather pleasant in knowing that you were misunderstood. It made you feel different from everyone else.

... true evil needs no reason to exist, it simply is and feeds upon itself.

I should be sorry if I only entertained them. I wished to make them better.

The King walks. He nods. His glance is like God's touch - under it all things spring to life. A wave of his hand and a hundred musicians tear into the Handel, making a sound you've never heard before, and never will again. A sound that goes through you, through flesh and bone, and reorders the very beat of your heart.

When Handel had his breakdown, he was, according to my opera-loving mother, “the ideal man” in that state, honourable, loving the world he could no longer be a part of, even if the world was a place of continual war.

The most sensitive,the most delicate of instruments is the mind of a little child

Meine Mittelmäßigkeit erkennen, nicht in geißelnder Selbstverachtung, nicht im Bekennerhochmut, sondern als Gefahr für die Integrität des Handels, wenn ich sie aus den Augen lasse.

Jesus, these Protestants! In my church we didn't sing cheap hymns. With us it was Handel and Palestrina.

Take a Nicodemus and put a Joseph Smith's spirit in him, and what do you have? Take a Da Vinci or a Michelangelo or a Shakespeare and give him a total knowledge of the plan of salvation of God and personal revelation and cleanse him and take a look at the statues he will carve and the murals he will paint and the masterpieves he will produce. Take a handel with his purposeful effort, his superb talent, his earnest desire to properly depict the story, and give him inward vision of the whole true story and revelation, and what a master you will have!

To me, animals have all the traits indicative of soul. For soul is not something we can see or measure...No one can prove that animals have souls. Asking for proof would be like demanding proof that I love my wife and children, or wanting me to prove that Handel's Messiah is a glorious masterpiece of music. Some truths simply cannot be demonstrated. But if we open our hearts to other creatures and allow ourselves to sympathize with their joys and struggles, we will find they have the power to touch and transform us. There is an inwardness in other creatures that awakens what is innermost in ourselves.

I should be sorry if I have only succeeded in entertaining them; I wished to make them better.

De liefde is die handeling waarbij iets a-posteriorisch –de bij toeval ontmoette ander– wordt omgezet in een a-priori –de voorwaarde om te kunnen leven–.

Does not… the ear of Handel predict the witchcraft of harmonic sound?

I have heard great music--even sublime music. I've heard music fit for princes, for kings. I have hard music fit for any monarch. But that night, for the first time in my life, I heard music fit for God.

It's worth remembering that [having a baby] is not of vital use to you as a woman. Yes, you could learn thousands of interesting things about love, strength, faith, fear, human relationships, genetic loyalty, and the effect of apricots on an immune digestive system. But I don't think there's a single lesson that motherhood has to offer that couldn't be learned elsewhere. If you want to know what's in motherhood for you, as a woman, then-in truth-it's nothing you couldn't get from, say, reading the 100 greatest books in human history; learning a foreign language well enough to argue in it; climbing hills; loving recklessly; sitting quietly, alone, in the dawn; drinking whiskey with revolutionaries; learning to do close-hand magic; swimming in a river in the winter; growing foxgloves, peas, and roses; calling your mum; singing while you walk; being polite; and always, always helping strangers. No one has ever claimed for a minute that childless men have missed out on a vital aspect of their existence, and were the poorer and crippled by it. Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Newton, Faraday, Plato, Aquinas, Beethoven, Handel, Kant, Hume, Jesus. They all seem to have managed quite well.

Laura began to model herself more and more on those around her; to grasp that the unpardonable sin is to vary from the common mould.

To want a gift and not receive it,that is a life of torture. To have a gift and lose it--that is eternal hell.

Kindness is like a muscle, the more we exercise it the better we are at it. Kindness starts as a thought but ends as an action. Acting kindly toward others is the only real way to let people know we care about them and their happiness. Without action, kindness just lives in our minds but never touches the real world. Being kind to others doesn’t have to be complex or fancy. Sometimes the simplest acts of kindness are seen as the most sincere, such as holding the door, helping with directions, saying “please” and “thank you,” or even just a smile.

Most often, however, we arrive at planets like this one … long forgotten after the Endplague has left them for dead. I played Handel. The survivors cried. They told me of the crimes they had committed. I told them of mine. Many were angry. More were ashamed. They asked, “Do we even have the right to hear this music? Is this okay?” But as I played, they listened. And slowly, their music welcomed them home. What did they find? Perhaps themselves. Perhaps each other—who am I to say? All I know is that I was not playing alone.

The key difference between a geek and a critic is that a critic digs deep and tries to get behind the surface of things, for better or worse, while a geek is interested in his own hedonism, the thrill of discovery.A geek is expansive and associative and doesn’t necessarily care what a film or a scene ‘means’. It’s the difference between the encyclopaedia and the scholar. A critic likes an interesting association, a nice phrase; the geek admires the beau geste, a pulpy story and its codes of honour taken seriously. Tarantino rather combines those two roles. He is encyclopaedic but also interpretive. He is a human Rolodex of credits. His films are like stuffed overnight bags breaking at the seams. The Handel of filmmakers, he takes the whole of cinema as his resource. But he also provides new meanings, new interpretations of old moments by the way he recontextualizes them.

Tallis with no pedal, Handel with, even the horrible organ piece that had been written for someone with three hands. He had thought it had all gone, but all he had done was lock himself up in a few little rooms and assume the rest of the house had fallen down. It hadn't. There were doors and doors, and dust, but when the curtains opened and the drapes came off, it was all where he had left it and hardly faded. He took his hands from the keys and sat with them in his lap instead, because his thoughts were echoing in the new space.

She could not then know that, even for the squarest peg, the right hole may ultimately be found

Inside each of us is our ideal life: our true north.

Soms is een gedachte dichter bij de waarheid, bij de werkelijkheid, dan een handeling. Je kunt alles zeggen, je kunt alles doen, maar een gedachte kun je niet veinzen.

..there are men who regret that we cannot hear our Handel exactly as Handel meant us to because, unfortunately, we no longer castrate boy singers

– En kärlek med villkor är ju handel.

[W]enn der Austausch [Handel] nicht in Liebe und freundlicher Gerechtigkeit stattfindet, wird er bloß einige zur Gier und andere zum Hunger führen.

Die allermeiste Gesellschaft ist so beschaffen, dass wer sie gegen die Einsamkeit vertauscht einen guten Handel macht.

Handel’s “He Shall Feed His Flock Like a Shepherd,” a popular anthem with elaborate part singing that the congregation performed faultlessly. As hundreds of tenor voices soared across the

When Handel was asked why his music was so cheerful, he replied, “I can’t make any other. I write as I feel. When I think on God my heart is so full of joy that the notes dance and leap from my pen.” —George Frideric Handel

If we’re not the one driving our dreams forward, who is? If we don’t figure out how to change jobs, eat healthily, date, fall and stay in love, who will come save us? No one. But, then again, no one should, right? The are, after all, our dreams.

The human attitude of which classical music is the expression is always the same; it is always based on the same kind of insight into life and strives for the same kind of victory over blind chance. Classical music as gesture signifies knowledge of the tragedy of the human condition, affirmation of human destiny, courage, cheerful serenity. The grace of a minuet by Handel or Couperin, the sensuality sublimated into delicate gesture to be found in many Italian composers or in Mozart, the tranquil, composed readiness for death in Bach – always there may be heard in these works a defiance, a death-defying intrepidity, a gallantry, and a note of superhuman laughter, of immortal gay serenity. Let that same note also sound in our Glass Bead Games, and in our whole lives, acts, and sufferings.

Het is vooral van belang dat wij ons aandeel bekomen in de exploitatie van denieuwe en groote Chinesen markt. Geen beter middel, voorzeker , om ons in deze verre landen te doen kennen en ze zelf te leeren kennen, dan een nijverheids-en handelsgezantschap te sturen bij de hoven van Yedo en Peking, ten einde de keizers om hunne vriendschap te vragen en hun stalen aan te bieden van onze producten, als daar zijn : Kanonnen, krijgs-en prachtwapens, stoffen, tapijten, lakens, weefsels, garen, linnen, kant, meubelen, messen, spiegels, vensterglazen, rijtuigen, modellen van machines, stalen van ijzer, zink, kolen enz. enz.

Het volstaat te durven om te slagen; dat is een der geheimen van de macht en den luister dien, gedurende meer dan eene eeuw, onze naburen ten Noorden, de Vereenigde-Provinciën, genoten. Zonder eenigen twijfel bezitten wij gelijke bestanddeelen van voorspoed; waarom zouden onze bedoelingen niet evenzoo hoog strekken?

In the nineteenth century, Emile Durkheim, the founder of sociology and an early pioneer of the social sciences, ran a thought experiment in one of his books: What if there were no crime? What if there emerged a society where everyone was perfectly respectful and nonviolent and everyone was equal? What if no one lied or hurt each other? What if corruption did not exist? What would happen? Would conflict cease? Would stress evaporate? Would everyone frolic in fields picking daises and singing the "Hallelujah" chorus from Handel's Messiah? Durkheim said no, that in fact the opposite would happen. He suggested that the more comfortable and ethical a society became, the more that small indiscretions would become magnified in our minds. If everyone stopped killing each other, we wouldn't necessarily feel good about it. We'd just get equally upset about the more minor stuff. Developmental psychology has long argued something similar: that protecting people from problems or adversity doesn't make them happier or more secure; it makes them more easily insecure. A young person who has been sheltered form dealing with any challenges or injustices growing up will come to find the slightest inconveniences of adult life intolerable, and will have the childish public meltdown to prove it.

We hebben behoefte aan een algemeen stemrecht, zodat in de volksvertegenwoordiging eindelijk mensen verkozen worden die de echte belangen van het echte volk behartigen, pas dan kan het volk zich werkelijk een vrij volk weten, maar dat wordt belet door de wereld van de handel, de industrie, het kleine en het grote vermogen.

Having considered Handel's tumultuous opera career and his first term at Covent Garden in the 1730s, perhaps we may dare to suggest he was one of the foremost pioneers in establishing autonomy within the traditional system of music patronage, notwithstanding his efforts to become an independent impressario often proved disappointing.

William was quite the hand at Couperin’s Messe pour les couvents, too, and Alice had been right about the Christmas section from Handel’s Messiah. As for the seduced parishioner, the military man’s young wife, Jack’s mother told him little—only enough that the boy assumed his father hadn’t been asked to leave Kastelskirken for flubbing a refrain.

Handel's yearning for independence from the traditional chains of patronage and his persistence in monitoring his productions resulted with unique developments concerning Baroque 'opera seria'; however, paradoxically his personal obsession to obtain complete artistic freedom generated disastrous side-effects that eventually impeded the progress of opera in London.

De volmaaktheid onzer producten en de matigheid onzer prijzen geven ons het recht eene ruime plaats op al de markten der wereld te eischen. Eene jonge natie als de onze moet stoutmoedig zijn, altijd vooruitgaan en vertrouwen in zich zelve stellen. Onze geldmiddelen zijn onschatbaar, ik vrees niet het te zeggen, en wij kunnen er een onberekenbaar voordeel mede doen.

Caroline, sister of William, was trained by him as a singer in the Bath days and had considerable success in Handel's oratorios under her brother's conductorship. (The method of training adopted was for her to sing the violin parts of concertos with a gag in her mouth.) It was with great reluctance that she dropped music to be trained as an assistant astronomer, yet she made discoveries — eight minor planets, one of them named after her.

Did you ever notice that most of us relate to our lives like we have no control or say over them? Especially in areas where we’re not proud. We speak about ourselves like we’re reporting on the weather, making sweeping generalizations...And boy do we ever believe our own ‘forecasts.

Ever notice how on a bad day you never deserve a salad? I mean how long do you think your bad mood would really last if you only fed your brat celery? How many bad days would your brat tolerate if it no longer got rewarded a drink, a cigarette, or an entire Netflix series on the couch for it.

Isaiah 40–66 is of the utmost importance for the Gospels’ self-understanding and proclamation. Sprinkled throughout all the Gospels, but especially Matthew and Luke, are direct quotations, strong allusions, and subtle echoes from Isaiah. We can say without overstatement that the eschatological vision of Isaiah 40–66 serves as the primary subtext and framing for the Gospels’ witness.[41] This is not a new insight, as is witnessed by the centrality of Isaiah in Christian interpretation, in everything from homily and commentary to Handel’s famous oratorio Messiah, which begins with the tenor aria “Comfort, O Comfort my People” (from Isa. 40:1).

For out of it all rose the vague, crude picture of woman as the prey of man. Man was animal, a composite of lust and cruelty, with no aim but that of brutally taking his pleasure: something monstrous, yet to be adored; annihilating, yet to be sought after; something to flee and, at the same time, to entice, with every art at one's disposal.

The empire of the sky occupies territory emptied of vitality. Heavenly imperialism aims at biological neutrality. How does music suck our blood? Man cannot live without support in space. But music annihilates space completely. The only art capable of bringing comfort, yet it opens up more wounds than all the others! Music is the sound track of askesis. Could one make love after Bach? Not even after Handel, whose unearthliness does not have a heavenly perfume. Music is a tomb of delights, beatitude which buries us. Saintliness also draws blood. We lose it in direct proportion to our longing for heaven. The roads to heaven have been worn smooth by all the erring instincts. Indeed, heaven was born of these errors.

The political powers, in both Jesus’ day and our own, play on fear to get their way—whether it be the fear of the emperor, the fear of terrorists, the fear of the foreign “other,” or the fear of death. But with “this day” comes a new possibility. The first words spoken after Jesus’ birth are “‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.

Human beings are responsible for art, science, medicine, education, the Sistine Chapel, Handel’s Messiah, New York City, space travel, the novel, photography, and Mexican food — I mean, who doesn’t love Mexican food? But we’re also responsible for a world with 27 million slaves, blatant racism, the Holocaust, Hiroshima, the genocide in Rwanda, ISIS, the financial meltdown of 2008, pornography, global warming, the endangered-species list, and don’t even get me started on pop music. So we humans are a mixed bag. We have a great capacity — more than we know — to rule in a way that is life-giving for the people around us and the place we call home, or to rule in such a way that we exploit the earth itself and rob people of an environment where they can thrive. This was God’s risk. His venture. His experiment.

What the music offers in a good opera is something that comes from a region that precedes the concrete concept of drama and, strictly speaking, stands outside the world of drama. Opera does not permit men to appear in nakedly logical acts, for the music dissolves feelings and thoughts into melodies and rhythms, harmonies and counterpoints, which in themselves have no conceptual meaning. Thus in opera objective situations may very well become entirely subjective expressions. Because of its paradoxical nature opera is capable of paradoxical effects; it can express purely sensuously the most profound abstractions, and the musical drama, exerting a mass effect far more than does the spoken drama, is much more primitive as drama than the spoken theatre; it must render conflict and character in immediate symbols.

The ancient triumph of Christianity proved to be the single greatest cultural transformation our world has ever seen. Without it the entire history of Late Antiquity would not have happened as it did. We would never have had the Middle Ages, the Reformation, the Renaissance, or modernity as we know it. There could never have been a Matthew Arnold. Or any of the Victorian poets. Or any of the other authors of our canon: no Milton, no Shakespeare, no Chaucer. We would have had none of our revered artists: Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, or Rembrandt. And none of our brilliant composers: Mozart, Handel, or Bach. To be sure, we would have had other Miltons, Michelangelos, and Mozarts in their places, and it is impossible to know whether these would have been better or worse. But they would have been incalculably different.

Biblia być może, a nawet na pewno, daje moralne przyzwolenia na handel ludźmi, czystki etniczne, niewolnictwo, na wykupywanie żony oraz masowe masakry i rzezie, lecz my nie mamy z tym nic wspólnego, ponieważ dopuszczały się tego prymitywne, pozbawione ogłady ssaki z gatunku homo sapiens. Nie trzeba przy tym dodawać, że żadne z tych makabrycznych, obłąkańczych wydarzeń opisanych w Księdze Wyjścia nigdy nie nastąpiło. Izraelscy archeologowie należą do najlepszych w świecie specjalistów w tej dziedzinie, nawet jeśli ich profesjonalizm bywa czasami skażony pragnieniem udowodnienia, że „przymierze” między Bogiem a Mojżeszem jest oparte na faktach. Nie było chyba grupy wykopaliskowej i badawczej, która pracowałaby z większym zapałem i mozołem czy z większymi oczekiwaniami niż Izraelczycy, którzy przeszukiwali, ziarnko po ziarnku, piaski półwyspu Synaj oraz krainy Kanaan.

Just listen you poor creature, listen without either pathos or mockery, while far away behind the veil of this hopeless idiotic and ridiculous apparatus the form of this divine music passes by. Pay attention and you will learn something. Observe what this crazy speaking-trumpet, apparently the most stupid, the most useless and the most damnable thing that the world contains, contrives to do. It take hold of some music played where you please, without distinction or discretion, lamentably distorted, to boot, and chucks it into space to land where it has no business to be; and yet after all this it cannot destroy the spirit of the music; it can only, however it may meddle and mar, lay its senseless mechanism at its feet. Listen, then, you poor thing. Listen well. You have need of it. And now you hear not only a Handel who, disfigured by radio, is, all the same, in the most ghastly of disguises, still divine;

wie niets heeft, kan niets delen. Wie alles moet delen wordt niet ruimhartiger, maar stuurloos. Geef kinderen vooral van alles voor henzelf en leer ze met de spullen van anderen omgaan zoals zij willen dat er met hun spullen wordt gespeeld. Eigendom dwingt tot beleefdheid en omgangsvormen. Als we kind zijn, veinzen we aardigheid om te krijgen wat we willen; het enige dat we later nog moeten leren is te vergeten dát we veinzen - pas als dat lukt hebben we het spel van fatsoen echt onder de knie.

He woke each dawn at 5:30, without need for an alarm, though he set one anyway just to be sure. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he lifted. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he jogged. Down along the Charles. Beneath the sagging boughs of honey locusts fat with fruit. Following his workout, he prepared a shake. After, he showered beneath the rainwater showerhead in the third-story bath-room, water beating down his back, the radio blaring classical music from its place on the marble vanity. Classical, not rock or country or top forty, because he'd been raised on Handel and Tchaikovsky and because sometimes, when he was very tightly wound, the instrumentals were the only things that eased the tension in his chest. When that was done, he dressed, made his bed--tucking his corners in with the militaristic precision his nanny had demanded of him when he was still small and belligerent and went downstairs to make eggs. Over easy, paired with whole-grain toast and a glass of orange juice. He had his routine down to a science, and he did the same thing every morning.

What is that particularly irritating little air you’re determined to vex our ears with?” Valentine stopped whistling to smirk at Westhaven’s question and started singing instead. “All we like sheep, have gone astraaaaaay.” “More Handel.” Sophie interrupted her brother’s little concert. “Seasonally appropriate. You two did not have to accompany me, you know.” “Nonsense.” Westhaven shot some sort of look at Valentine, who’d lapsed into humming. “I needed to call on the vicar since I’m in the area, and Valentine must tune the piano before the Christmas service.” “I’m getting very good at tuning pianos,” Valentine said. “A skill to fall back on if my wife ever casts me to the gutter.” “She won’t,” Sophie replied, patting her mare. “She’ll send you visiting your siblings and get her revenge on the whole family.” “Now, children,” Westhaven started, only to provoke Valentine back into a full-throated baritone recital. “All we like sheep, have gone astraaaaaaaaaaaaay.” Westhaven rolled his eyes. “To think my tiny son is all that stands between this braying ass and the Moreland dukedom.” “I made Sophie smile,” Val said, abruptly ceasing his braying. “My Christmas holiday is a success because I made Sophie smile.

In the words of the master: infinity but without melody. In the second place, with regard to the overthrowing,--this belongs at least in part, to physiology. Let us, in the first place, examine the instruments. A few of them would convince even our intestines (--they _throw open_ doors, as Handel would say), others becharm our very marrow. The _colour of the melody is_ all-important here, _the melody itself_ is of no importance. Let us be precise about _this_ point. To what other purpose should we spend our strength? Let us be characteristic in tone even to the point of foolishness! If by means of tones we allow plenty of scope for guessing, this will be put to the credit of our intellects. Let us irritate nerves, let us strike them dead: let us handle thunder and lightning,--that is what overthrows.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} But what overthrows best, is _passion_.--We must try and be clear concerning this question of passion. Nothing is cheaper than passion! All the virtues of counterpoint may be dispensed with, there is no need to have learnt anything,--but passion is always within our reach! Beauty is difficult: let us beware of beauty!{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} And also of _melody!_ However much in earnest we may otherwise be about the ideal, let us slander, my friends, let us slander,--let us slander melody! Nothing is more dangerous than a beautiful melody! Nothing is more certain to ruin taste! My friends, if people again set about loving beautiful melodies, we are lost!{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} _First principle_: melody is immoral. _Proof_: "Palestrina". _Application_: "Parsifal." The absence of melody is in itself sanctifying.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} And this is the definition of passion. Passion--or the acrobatic feats of ugliness on the tight-rope of enharmonic--My friends, let us dare to be ugly! Wagner dared it! Let us heave the mud of the most repulsive harmonies undauntedly before us. We must not even spare our hands! Only thus, shall we become _natural_.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}

Then I’ll sing, though that will likely have the child holding his ears and you running from the room.” This, incongruously, had her lips quirking up. “My father isn’t very musical. You hold the baby, I’ll sing.” She took the rocking chair by the hearth. Vim settled the child in his arms and started blowing out candles as he paced the room. “He shall feed his flock, like a shepherd…” More Handel, the lilting, lyrical contralto portion of the aria, a sweet, comforting melody if ever one had been written. And the baby was comforted, sighing in Vim’s arms and going still. Not deathly still, just exhausted still. Sophie sang on, her voice unbearably lovely. “And He shall gather the lambs in his arm… and gently lead those that are with young.” Vim liked music, he enjoyed it a great deal in fact—he just wasn’t any good at making it. Sophie was damned good. She had superb control, managing to sing quietly even as she shifted to the soprano verse, her voice lifting gently into the higher register. By the second time through, Vim’s eyes were heavy and his steps lagging. “He’s asleep,” he whispered as the last notes died away. “And my God, you can sing, Sophie Windham.” “I had good teachers.” She’d sung some of the tension and worry out too, if her more peaceful expression was any guide. “If you want to go back to your room, I can take him now.” He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave her alone with the fussy baby; he didn’t want to go back to his big, cold bed down the dark, cold hallway. “Go to bed, Sophie. I’ll stay for a while.” She frowned then went to the window and parted the curtain slightly. “I think it’s stopped snowing, but there is such a wind it’s hard to tell.” He didn’t dare join her at the window for fear a chilly draft might wake the child. “Come away from there, Sophie, and why haven’t you any socks or slippers on your feet?” She glanced down at her bare feet and wiggled long, elegant toes. “I forgot. Kit started crying, and I was out of bed before I quite woke up.” They shared a look, one likely common to parents of infants the world over. “My Lord Baby has a loyal and devoted court,” Vim said. “Get into bed before your toes freeze off.” She gave him a particularly unreadable perusal but climbed into her bed and did not draw the curtains. “Vim?” “Hmm?” He took the rocker, the lyrical triple meter of the aria still in his head. “Thank you.” He

„Zie zoo, nu zie ik ze niet meer. Jij weet niet wat handel is, Koekebakker, anders zou je der niet om lachen. Om te beginnen ga je tot je achtiende jaar op school. Heb jij ooit geweten hoeveel schapen er in Australië zijn en hoe diep ’t Suezkanaal is? Nou juist, daar heb je het. Ik heb dat geweten. Weet jij wat polarisatie is? Ik ook niet, maar ik heb ’t geweten. De raarste dingen heb ik moeten leeren. Vertaal in ’t Fransch: [80]„onder benefice van inventaris.” Ga der maar tegen aan staan. Je hebt er geen begrip van, Koekebakker. Dat duurt zoo jaren. Dan doet je ouwe heer je op een kantoor. Dan merk je, dat je al die dingen geleerd hebt om met een kwast papier nat te maken. Overigens is ’t ’t ouwe gedonderjaag, ’s morgens om negen uur present en urenlang stil zitten. Ik vond dat ik op die manier niet opschoot. Ik kwam altijd te laat, ik probeerde wel op tijd te komen, maar ’t wou niet meer, ik had ’t zooveel jaren gedaan. En taai. Ze zeiden dat ik alles verkeerd deed, daar zullen ze wel gelijk aan gehad hebben. Ik wilde wel, maar ik kon niet, ik ben geen kerel om te werken. Ze zeiden, dat ik de anderen van hun werk hield. Ook daarin zullen ze wel gelijk gehad hebben. Als ik klaagde, dat ik ’t niks lollig vond en vroeg of ik daarvoor nu op school al die wonderlijke dingen had geleerd, dan zei de oue boekhouder: „Ja jongetje, het leven is geen roman.” Bakken vertellen, dat kon ik en dat vonden ze leuk ook, maar ze waren er niet tevreden mee. De ouwe boekhouder wist al heel gauw niet wat hij met me doen moest. Als de baas er niet was maakte ik dierengeluiden, zong komieke liedjes, die ze nog nooit hadden gehoord. De zoon van den baas was een ingebeelde kwajongen; af en toe kwam i op kantoor om centen te halen. Hij sprak vreeselijk gemaakt en keek met een allerellendigst, door niets gemotiveerd vertoon van superioriteit naar de bedienden van zijn pa. De lui lachten zich een beroerte als ik dien jongeheer nadeed. Ik heb daar ook nog een schrijfmachine bedorven en een boek weggemaakt. Toen hebben ze me aan een toestel gezet, dat ze de „guillotine” noemden. Daar moest ik monsters mee knippen. Dagen lang heb ik daaraan gestaan: alle monsters werden scheef. De lui hadden ’t wel in de gaten, ze hadden niets [81]anders verwacht. Ze hadden me daar alleen maar aan gezet om erger te voorkomen. Die monsters werden weggegooid; die gingen nooit naar de klanten. Toch had ik in die dagen nog gelegenheid om een brief verkeerd in te sluiten. Natuurlijk was ’t erg; de man die den brief kreeg mocht niet weten, dat de baas zaken deed met den man waaraan i geschreven was. De boekhouder was totaal van streek. Toen begreep ik, dat ik maar liever heen moest gaan. Ik kreeg een poot van den baas. Ik was zelf ook blij dat ik wegging en heb hem hartelijk de hand geschud. Ik heb gezegd, dat ’t me speet, maar dat ik er niets aan doen kon en ik geloof, dat ’k ’t meende. Zie je, Koekebakker, dat is handel. Ik ben daarna nog drie weken volontair geweest op een effectenkantoortje, krantjes nakijken met een boek om te zien of de stukken van de klanten waren uitgeloot. Je ergste vijand zal er voor bewaard blijven. Ze moesten me wegdoen. Ik moest daar ook copieeren. Er was geen denken aan, dat ze uit ’t copieboek konden wijs worden. Ik zag wel in dat ’t zoo niet ging, ik kon er mijn hoofd niet bij houden.

It is not surprising that music can incite a broad range of motions, including passion, serenity, and fear. Most of us can recall instances when music caused changes in our own emotional levels, perhaps when we listened to Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus or the background music in a movie thriller. The reason for the emotional arousal appears to be that music affects levels of several brain chemicals, including epinephrine, endorphins, and cortisol, the hormone involved in the “fight-or-flight” response. In Chapter 9, we saw that one of the links between emotion and memory involves these same neurotransmitters and hormones. Perhaps this is why a mere snippet of a song from our past can trigger highly vivid memories.

It is not surprising that music can incite a broad range of emotions, including passion, serenity, and fear. Most of us can recall instances when music caused changes in our own emotional levels, perhaps when we listened to Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus or the background music in a movie thriller. The reason for the emotional arousal appears to be that music affects levels of several brain chemicals, including epinephrine, endorphins, and cortisol, the hormone involved in the “fight-or-flight” response. In Chapter 9, we saw that one of the links between emotion and memory involves these same neurotransmitters and hormones. Perhaps this is why a mere snippet of a song from our past can trigger highly vivid memories.

..maar voor nu is het van belang op te merken dat we er toch stilzwijgend van uitgaan dat het tenminste in theorie mogelijk moet zijn om de symbolische en reële waarde zo te laten samenvallen dat ze tegen elkaar kunnen worden weggestreept. Een misleidend idee. Tijd is geld, maar geld is geen tijd natuurlijk.

Maar het stak vooral dat ik mijn eigen broer iets had verkocht, en het idee dat ik een te hoge prijs vroeg maakte het allemaal nog veel zondiger.

I told him that I liked “light” classical, such as Mozart, Handel, and Tchaikovsky. I didn’t really know what I was talking about since my exposure to Mozart was Eine kleine Nachtmusik, Handel meant Messiah, and Tchaikovsky meant the 1812 Overture.

Seit wir die Zeit als etwas abbilden, das sich von links nach rechts bewegt, richten sich nicht nur Früher und Später, sondern auch Tiefer und Höher, Weniger und Mehr, Vergangenheit und Gegenwart nach der Uhr. Und jeder hält sich daran, als handele es sich um eine ganz natürliche Sache. Ich finde nichts natürlich. Ich übe regelmäßig, entgegen dem Uhrzeigersinn zu denken.

I should have perished of despair in my youth but for the world created for me by that great German dynasty which began with Bach and will perhaps not end with Richard Strauss. Do not suppose for a moment that I learnt my art from English men of letters. True, they showed me how to handle English words; but if I had known no more than that, my works would never have crossed the Channel. My masters were the masters of a universal language: they were, to go from summit to summit, Bach, Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Wagner. Had the Germans understood any of these men, they would have hanged them. Fortunately they did not understand them, and therefore only neglected them until they were dead, after which they learnt to dance to their tunes with an easy conscience. For their sakes Germany stands consecrated as the Holy Land of the capitalist age, just as Italy, for its painters' sakes, is the Holy Land of the early unvulgarized Renascence; France, for its builders' sakes, of the age of Christian chivalry and faith; and Greece, for its sculptors' sakes, of the Periclean age.

Beethoven esteemed Mozart and Handel most of all composers, and next to them S. Bach.

Handel is the unequalled master of all masters! Go, turn to him, and learn, with few means, how to produce such effects.

Handel detaliczny w kraju Szanownej Ambasady – sam pan prezydent Putin to ujawnił – na masową skalę zaczął sprzedawać komu popadnie mundury, hełmy, czołgi, transportery opancerzone, rakiety i inne takie. Nabywcy tych militariów postanowili je wypróbować w ościennej Ukrainie. I teraz uzbrojeni ludzie w rosyjskich mundurach znowu zaczęli się źle kojarzyć.

No one has ever claimed for a moment that childless men have missed out on a vital aspect of their existence, and were the poorer and crippled by it. Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Newton, Faraday, Plato, Aquinas, Beethoven, Handel, Kant, Hume. Jesus. They all seem to have managed quite well.

Unlike his contemporaries Handel and Telemann, whose ambition was directed toward creating the epitome of a particular style, Bach deconstructed styles and put them back together again combined with his strengths in invention, orchestration, and counterpoint.

Jeg kalder nyttige Bøger dem, som sette Boghandlere udi Activitet, som forfremme Handel, og komme deres Gryder til at kaage, ikke saadanne, der sigte alleene til forfængelig Lærdom, som Almuen, der er Landets Styrke, ikke forstaaer, og derfore gemeenligen oplægges med Boghandlernes største Skade, og ligge skimlede paa Bogladene.

In few human activities is competition more ingrained than in music, and has been so ever since the battle between Marsyas and Apollo. Wagner has immortalized these vocal battles in his Meistersinger. As instances from periods following that of the Meistersinger themselves we may cite the contest between Handel and Scarlatti got up by Cardinal Ottoboni in the year 1709, the chosen weapons being harpsichord and organ. In 1717 Augustus the Strong, King of Saxony and Poland, wanted to organize a contest between J. S. Bach and a certain Marchand, but the latter failed to appear. In 1726 all London society was in an uproar because of the competition between the two Italian singers Faustina and Cuzzoni: there were fisticuffs and catcalls. Factions and cliques develop with astonishing ease in musical life. The 18th century is full of these musical coteries—Bononcini versus Handel, Gluck versus Piccini, the Parisian “Bouffons” versus the Opera. The musical squabble sometimes took on the character of a lasting and embittered feud, such as that between the Wagnerians and the Brahmsians.

Postmodernes & gendermäßiges Denken & wissenschaftsgeschichtliche Überlegungen & Dekonstruktion von Landschaft als "Natur" & Transkulturation: - "Auch Wildnis kann Menschenwerk sein." - Natur als menschliches Konstrukt und Projektionsfläche etc. - das Buchfinken-Experiment des Wissenschaftlers Thorpes (er zog junge Finken isoliert in schalldichten Käfigen auf, um ihr angeborenes oder antrainiertes Singverhalten zu untersuchen) war in den Ägnsten der Zeit des Kalten Krieges verwurzelt: Fragen eines Nachkriegswissenschaftlers, der von der eigenen Identität besessen war und Angst vor Gehirnwäsche hatte: Wie lernst du, wer du bist? Kann man dich unmpolen? Was macht dich zu einem Buchfinken? (94) - männlicher viktorianischer Blick auf Habichte entsprach männlichem Blick auf (hormongesteuerte, launische) Frauen: "Habichte konnte man nicht verstehen, wie Frauen. Sie waren launisch, flatterhaft, hysterisch, ihre Stimmungen pathologisch. Jenseits aller Vernunft." - Anders im elisabethanischen und jakobinischen 17. Jh.: "Damals erachtete man sie als 'umgänglich und vertraut', wenngleich ihrer Natur nach eher 'scheu und ängstlich', wie Simon Latham 1615 schrieb. Sie nehmen 'Anstoß' an 'grober und schroffer Behandlung durch den Menschen'; behandelte man sie dagegen mit Güte und Umsicht, waren sie 'so liebevoll und ihrem Falkner zugetan wie jeder andere Greifvogel'. Auch hier sprach man über die Vögel wie über Frauen - etwas, das man für sich gwinnen, umwerben, lieben sollte, Aber man betrachtete sie nicht als hysterische Monster. Sie waren echte, widersprüchliche Wesen mit einem eigenen Willen, 'imposant und mutig', aber eben auch 'scheu und ängstlich'. (157) - Beziehung zwischen Mensch & Tier: "So viel von dem, wofür sie [Mabel] steht, ist Menschenwerk. Seit Tausenden von Jahren hat man Greifvögel wie sie eingefangen und in menschliche Obhut gegeben." (15) - "Dass das Downland nicht nur mit Naturgeschichte, sondern auch mit Begriffen wie Nation und Volk verknüpft war." (359) - "Das flüchtende Damwild und der flüchtende Hase. Vermächtnisse des Handels und der Inbesitznahme des Landes, der Bewirtschaftung, der Jagd, der Besiedlung. Hasen sind vermutlich von den Römern hierhergebracht worden, das Damwild ganz sicher. Fasane auch, in Scharen aus Kleinasien. Die Rebhühner, denen dieses Land gehört, stammen ursprünglich aus Frankreich; die, die ich hier sehe, wurden in Brutschränken mit Luftumwälzpumpen auf Federwildfarmen ausgebrütet. Das Grauhörnchen auf der Kastanie? Nordamerika. Kaninchen? Wurden im Mittelalter eingeführt. Filz, Fleisch, Fell, Federn aus allen Teilen der Welt. Und trotzdem gehört dieses Land ihnen." (361) - "Ich denke an all die komplizierten Geschichten der Landschaften und wie leicht es ist, sie beiseitezufegen, si abzutun, und stattdessen bequemere, sicherere Geschichten zu etablieren." (363) - "Diese Geschichten sind nur für uns sicher." (363) - "Das gute alte England existiert nur in der Vorstellung - ein Land, das aus Wörtern, Holzschnitten, Filmen, Gemälden und pittoresken Stichen zusammengezimmert ist." (364)

Wat het ergste is by zulke vertooningen op het tooneel, het publiek gewent zich zóó aan al die onwaarheden, dat het ze mooi vindt en toejuicht.

Ogilvy never wrote an advertisement in the office: “Too many interruptions.” He started by looking at every advertisement for competing products for the past 20 years: “Study the precedents.” Then he’d go to work on a headline. Finally, when he could no longer postpone the actual copy, he would start writing, usually throwing away the first 20 attempts. “If all else fails, I drink a half a bottle of rum and play a Handel oratorio on the gramophone. This generally produces a gush of copy.” The next morning, he would get up early and edit the gush. “I am a lousy copywriter,” he would say, “but a good editor.

In the West, castrati are known to history not for their political influence but mainly for their vocal peculiarities. In addition to removing the power to procreate, the castrating operation retards the deepening of the voice, and leaves the eunuch a soprano. From Constantinople the practice spread of using eunuchs in choirs. In the eighteenth century Handel’s operas featured castrati, who then began to dominate the opera scene, sometimes requiring composers to write in parts especially for them. Until the early nineteenth century castrati sang in the papal choir in Rome. The Italian practice of castrating boys to prepare them to become adult male sopranos did not end till the reign of Pope Leo XIII in the late nineteenth century.

This word closure...it is a stupid word, ja? Bach did not believe in closure. Handel did not. Beethoven did not. Only Americans believe in closure because Americans are like little children- easily swindled. Bach believed in making music, ja?

The truth that could be extracted from words was such a fluctuating, relative truth

Kooplieden zijn nergens thuis, maar toch overal welkom, omdat ze welvaart brengen. Als ergens de pest heerst, zoals vorig jaar in Savoye, vermijden ze de stad, en zonder hen staat alles stil. Ze kunnen geen zijde meer brengen uit Lucca, geen wijn meer uit Bordeaux, en de Genuezen kunnen geen leningen meer verstrekken. Niemand koopt nog iets, het geld wordt opgepot en de prijzen rijzen de pan uit. Alsof je de levensader van de stad afsnijdt. Ja, word jij maar koopman.

Als het effect van een handeling precies het tegengestelde is van wat je ermee beoogt, dan spreken we van een contraproductieve reflex. Een veel gebruikt voorbeeld hiervan is krabben als je jeuk hebt van een muggenbeet: de jeuk wordt er juist erger door. Een verslaving is een schoolvoorbeeld van een contraproductieve reflex: het verslavende middel is bedoeld om een einde te maken aan een beknellend gevoel en in plaats daarvan een prettig gevoel te creëren. Dat lukt telkens heel eventjes tijdens de roes van het middel, maar tegelijkertijd versterkt het gebruik van dat middel de negatieve gevoelens die men er juist mee wilde ontvluchten. Als je drinkt om je geremdheid in gezelschap kwijt te raken, zul je jezelf steeds geremder gaan voelen en de drank steeds meer nodig hebben om nog af en toe iets spontaans te kunnen doen. Gebruik je pepmiddelen om van je chronische moeheid af te komen en het leven energieker tegemoet te treden, dan zul je je steeds vermoeider gaan voelen en op den duur niet eens je huis meer kunnen opruimen zonder het pepmiddel.

En vooral: hoe zijn die booswichten [uit de wereldliteratuur] niet uitgetekend? Hun booswichten beseffen uitstekend dat zij booswichten zijn en dat hun ziel zwart is. En zo redeneren zij ook: ik kan niet leven als ik geen kwaad bedrijf.[...] Nee, zo gaat het niet in werkelijkheid! Om kwaad te kunnen bedrijven moet een men er eerst van doordrongen zijn dat het het goede is of dat het om een zinnige rechtmatige handeling gaat. De natuur van de mens is gelukkig van dien aard, dat hij voor zijn handelingen een rechtvaardiging nodig heeft. [...] Met een tiental lijken stokten de fantasie en de geestkracht van Shakespeares booswichten al. Het ontbrak hun namelijk aan een ideologie.

Behalve lezen is er niets mooier dan nog niet lezen. Bij beide handelingen – want ook niet-lezen is een intensieve handeling – gaat het om het mooiste wat er is: het boek.

The treaty was finally signed, and the two young princes – Abdul Khaliq, who was eight, and Muizuddin, aged five – handed over to Cornwallis on 18 March 1792. The boys were taken off by elephant to Madras, which they appeared in general to like, though they clearly did not enjoy being made to sit through entire performances of Handel’s Messiah and Judas Maccabaeus.58 Having created a sensation in Madras society with their dignity, intelligence and politeness, they were sent back two years later when Tipu delivered the final tranche of his indemnity payment.

In 2036, the USA elected an over-the-top, unapologetic fundamentalist president named Andrew Handel. Yes, that Handel. During his term, he tried to ban election of non-Christians to any public post, and tried to remove the constitutional separation between church and state. He was nominated, supported, and elected based on his religious views, rather than on his political or fiscal expertise. And of course, he appointed persons of similar persuasion to every post he could manage, in some cases blatantly ignoring laws and procedures. He and his cronies rammed through far-right policies with no thought for consequences. In a number of cases, when challenged on the results, he declared that God would not allow their just cause to fail. He eventually brought the USA to its knees in an economic collapse that made the 2008 recession look like a picnic in the park.

- Nie straszę. Stwierdzam fakty. - Z absolutną powagą powiedział Hamilton. - Proszę zwrócić uwagę, iż Rosja to dziwoląg. Jej sfery rządowe opanowali Niemcy, handel Żydzi. Kulturę tworzą po francusku, a najlepsi żołnierze rosyjskiej armii to Polacy.

Op de televisie getuigt de laag stof van 2 of 3 centimeter, de totale desinteresse in uw handel en wandel.

Bach. Cataracts. He had an operation, but the doctor – I mean, this man, Frank, he was not a surgeon, he was a con man. He performed operations in front of a crowd in the market square. Bach went blind as a bat and after that he had a stroke. He was dead in four months. And then of course Handel went to the same man for the same operation and he went blind too. It’s tragic.

Passt sie zu dem, was ich bereits habe? Handele ich nur aus einer Laune heraus? Hat es für mich einen wirklichen Nutzen, oder macht mir einfach nur der Besitz an sich Freude?

5 voices: Handel's harpsichord pieces + T (thought) + D (drama) + S (story) + P (poem) T: And it is possible in imagination/// to divorce speech of all graphic elements,/// to let it become a movement of sounds. D: I came thru there (points finger downward, moves his head negatively from side to side) My mother hit her mother?/// (falls to the floor in a fit)/// (rises, limp,) S: This story was a story of our time./// And a writer's attempts not to fathom his time/// amount but to sounding his mind in it. P: Blest / infinite things / /// So many / Which /// confuse imagination / Thru its weakness,

Nu hører du Læser, hvad Handel og Kaar Vi fattig' Nord-lændinger daglig udstaar, Og hvorpaa vi faar os at lave.

Die Behauptung, daß Effrom nicht besonders gut kochen konnte, war eine Untertreibung von ähnlichem Kaliber wie die Feststellung, daß es sich bei Völkermord um eine nicht besonders erfolgversprechende PR-Strategie handele.

A gust of warm air enveloped Baldwin midstride and the strains of Handel’s Water Music drifted to his ears. Fitz came out of the large wooden doors that led to the nave of the church. An avuncular smile filled his broad features. Baldwin stopped pacing for a moment, happy to have the short-lived heat and the company.

Joseph tipped his face up and saw a sprig of mistletoe some wag had hung over a signboard. On the square, a seasonal street chorus launched into a jaunty version of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus.” And that gladdened his heart yet more. Before common sense or some other overrated commodity could stop him, Joseph brushed his lips to Louisa’s cheek, treating himself to a goodly dose of cinnamon, cloves, and female warmth. “Happy Christmas, Louisa Windham.” He stole that Christmas kiss for himself—he’d been an exceedingly good fellow in the previous year—though he expected at least a scolding for his troubles. “Rascal.” Louisa ducked her face and led him off down the street, not the least daunted, bless her. “I’m out of practice. When my brothers were underfoot, no one was safe from their infernal kisses this time of year. They will soon be visiting and I can assure you by the New Year, you’ll have to be much quicker to catch me under the mistletoe.” As

Despite Grumblethorpe's noises of disapproval, Esme knew she liked the family pets.She just did't approve of having so many of them in her mistress's bedroom at once. Still, it was an old battle and one the lady's maid had given up waging long ago. Good thing too, since four of Esme's six cats- who had all started life in either Braebourne stables or as strays she'd rescued- were snoozing in various locations around her room. They included a big orange male, Tobias, who was curled up in a cozy spot in the middle of her bed; Queen Elizabeth- a sweet-natured tabby, who was lounging in her usual window seat; Mozart- a luxuriously coated white longhair who luckily loved being brushed; and Naiad, a one-eyed black female, whom Esme had rescued from drowning as a kitten. Her other two cats, Persephone and Ruff, were out and about, seeing to their own cat business. As for the dogs, Burr lay stretched out on the hearthrug in front of the fireplace. He snored gently, clearly tired after their recent adventures. And joining him in the land of dreams was dear old Henry, a brindle spaniel who was curled up inside a nearby dog bed lined with plush pillows that helped cushion his aging joints. Handel and Haydn, a pair of impish Scottish terriers, were absent. She suspected they were on the third floor playing with her increasingly large brood of nieces and nephews. The dogs loved the children.

Here are some musical selections you can play quietly for the fetus. Since these pieces may calm the baby after birth, it’s good to have a small but well-rehearsed repertoire. These are recommended by Dr. F. Rene Van de Carr and musician and retired professor Dr. Donald Shetler. Music for the Royal Fireworks, Handel “Spring,” from The Four Seasons, Vivaldi Air on the G String,J. S. Bach The Brandenburg Concertos, J. S. Bach Canon in D Major, Pachelbel Pictures at an Exhibition, Mussorgsky Slow steady pieces by Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, or Vivaldi Popular music by Tom Paxton, Burl Ives, Tom Chapin, and Raffi

Ich verehre Wilkie Collins", quietschte Tessa. "Oh - Der rote Schal! Und Die weiße Frau... Lachst du über mich?" "Nein, nicht über dich", erwiderte Will grinsend, "eher wegen dir. Ich habe noch nie jemanden erlebt, der sich so für Bücher begeistern kann. Man könnte glauben, es handele sich um Juwelen." "Nun ja, das sind sie ja auch, oder nicht? Gibt es denn irgendetwas, das du so sehr liebst? Und jetzt sage nicht >Gamaschen< oder >Rasentennis< oder etwas ähnlich Albernes." "Gütiger Gott. Es scheint, als würde sie mich bereits durch und durch kennen.

Lean on me,” the dragon rumbled. Hans wrapped his arms around Handel’s warm neck and buried his face in his hide. His scales were warm and supple.

As the intelligence historian Michael Handel writes in his assessment of Operation Mincemeat: “It is very unusual and very difficult17 for deception to create new concepts for an enemy. It is much easier and more effective to reinforce those which already exist.

Laura tried her utmost, with an industry born of despair.