Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Trumpets. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Trumpets Quotes And Sayings by 87 Authors including C.j. Cherryh,Karen Marie Moning,Bruno Schulz,Gerry Mulligan,Richard Wagner for you to enjoy and share.
Gods and Thunders!
My clarinet sounded like an apoplectic yak. For the brief days I blew the trumpet, a hostile-sounding pig snorted along in jerky fits and starts with the rest of the irritated band.
the sound of a barrel organ rising from the deepest golden vein of the day; two or three bars of a chorus, played on a distant piano over and over again, melting in the sun on the white pavement, lost in the fire of high noon.
I've always wanted a C trumpet on top, to have that same kind of facility without shouting.
Never look at the trombones, it only encourages them.
The Lord did not people the earth with a vibrant orchestra of personalities only to value the piccolos of the world. Every instrument is precious and adds to the complex beauty of the symphony.
Success has a million musical nuances. Failure is only the monotonous banging of a brass gong.
Jet Noise, the Sound of Freedom.
Bells are musics laughter.
I'm a terrible trumpet player.
The sweetest sound I know is the Muslim call to prayer.
Raucous drunken trumpets and instrumentation tend to guide the way you think. They can give you a path to follow lyrically.
Humbledrum farted mournfully, three distinct notes.
Never look at the trombones. You'll only encourage them.
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.
The strings all soar,
The reeds implore,
The brasses roar with notes galore.
It's music that we all adore
It's what we go to concerts for.
Sound drums and trumpets! Farewell sour annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.
the distant cries of the seagulls
I love the French horn.
Sweet harmonious sounds give exquisite joy to human beings capable of appreciating music. I delight in hearing harmonious tones made by the human voice, by musical instruments, and by both combined.
They hear drums, we hear music.
No one can whistle a symphony. It takes a whole orchestra to play it.
Now, as for this new breed of musicians with their 'ultrasonic' conservatory technique, I say: So What. Tell me a story from the heart of your soul and what your existence in this Universe is all about!
In the black chaos where the seas and the skies become confused let the projectors blow their white trumpets of silence
("Roundness")
Never look at the trombones, you'll just encourage them.
War and Niagara thunder to a music of their own.
So I had a couple of years of playing trumpet. I really enjoyed it, but it was not the kind of instrument you could whip out at a party. Let's face it.
Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells Of youth and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime!
Inspire the Vocal Brass, Inspire;
The World is past its Infant Age:
Arms and Honour,
Arms and Honour,
Set the Martial Mind on Fire,
And kindle Manly Rage.
He turned around to see the bass drum popping and the horn sections pointing their instruments to the balconies and sending glorious notes to the rooftops.
Old men when they begin to hear the last trumpet, on the morning breeze, often have a kind of absent-minded smile; like people listening. And their smiles are just politeness.
The bells themselves are the best of preachers, Their brazen lips are learned teachers, From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, Shriller than trumpets under the Law, Now a sermon and now a prayer.
A fluent trumpeter with a bright tone and a forward-looking style ...
No trumpets sound when the important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently.
You make me feel like honey and trombones. You make me feel like honey and trombones.
An orchestra of temple bells and chanting erupted suddenly like a pleasing drizzle.
You blow in this end of the trombone and sound comes out the other end and disrupts the cosmos.
Your questions regarding that gentleman are very delicate, very subtle, very much like being smacked in the head with a mallet ... it's a tuba among the flutes.
Do you know what a magical kingdom is in your ear? A fairy cave leads to an Ali Baba doorway, beyond which the bony little ossicles - Malleus, Incus, and Stapes - guard the great snail, Cochlea, to whom God has given the power to transform the indiscernible movement of air into music.
The Woodshed Orchestra trade in exuberance and might, a glistening thunderslap on the hind of musical atrophy. These songs leap from disc to lap, a many-legged beast trundling with joy and vision.
The harmony of a concert, to which you listen with delight, must have on certain classes of minute animals the effect of terrible thunder; perhaps it kills them.
It was always a considerable annoyance to any Disc citizen with pretensions to culture that they were ruled by gods whose idea of an uplifting artistic experience was a musical doorbell..
What the hell is an oboe?
I don't just play the trumpet because it's something that resonates with me: I play the trumpet because I realize it's a means to help free a lot of people that ain't free.
Do you know what the three most exciting sounds in the world are?
Anchor chains, airplane motors and train whistles.
Nothing could be smarter, more splendid, more brilliant, better drawn up than two armies. Trumpets, fifes, hautboys, drums, cannons, formed a harmony such as never been heard in hell.
We are as the flute, and the music in us is from thee; we are as the mountain and the echo in us is from thee.
In Boffo's Novelty and Joke Emporium in Ankh-Morpork, all the whoopee cushions trumpeted in a doleful harmony;
No one can whistle a symphony.
Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise.
I resolved to play my trumpet like a sax.
What are we singers but the silver-voiced messengers of the poet and the musician?
Sounds of life and movement, people getting ready and people giving up, the sound of hope and the sound of hanging on, and behind them all, the quiet, deadly ticking of a thousand hungry clocks ...
Musical myths speak with authority about our society, its fragility, its strengths, its desires, and its limits. Music becomes a wise version of the utopian messenger, pleasing us with his account of an ideal land but also warning us, in his tones, of all the dangers.
thunder booms to the
Every time some spoiled European soccer millionaire complains about the blaring vuvuzelas, I want them to blare louder.
The heart-flute Knows how to charm the world.
The sound of their voices mingled with the whicker of horses, the clank of steel, and the groaning hinges of the great bronze gates to make a strange and fearful music. In the sept they sing for the Mother's mercy but on the walls it's the Warrior they pray to, and all in silence.
Roaming through the jungle of "Ohs" and "Ahs" searching for a more agreeable noise, I live a life of primitivity with the mind of a child and an unquenchable thirst for sharps and flats.
The hardest part of playing the trumpet is the physical act of making the sound.
These days people wallow in enormous masses of sound.
Each instrument has something to say to you. It's got its own character. Each horn has its own character and will say to you certain things. If you violate that, it's almost a sacrilege!
These are bagpipes. I understand the inventor of the bagpipes was inspired when he saw a man carrying an indignant, asthmatic pig under his arm. Unfortunately, the man-made sound never equalled the purity of the sound achieved by the pig.
The majority of people who keel over dead at concerts are killed by a long trumpet passage.
He seems determined to make a trumpet sound like a tin whistle.
Music pierces the sky.
Music- what a powerful instrument, what a mighty weapon!
The horn that wakes the sleepers! The shield that guard the realms of men!
Those little nimble musicians of the air, that warble forth their curious ditties, with which nature hath furnished them to the shame of art.
A frisky spirit makes my trombone sing.
The choice word, the correct phrase, are instruments that may reach the heart, and awake the soul if they fall upon the ear in melodious cadence; but if the utterance be harsh and discordant they fail to interest, fall upon deaf ears, and are as barren as seed sown on fallow ground.
I want to feel like honey and trombones. I want to feel like honey and trombones
Stars open among the lilies.
Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
This is the silence of astounded souls.
Music fathoms the sky.
From outside came a sudden and loud music of birds celebrating their existence.
For tolls too briefly the sounds of mercy ... In fear we ponder the use of thunder for peace
And for the last three minutes on the wind of a windless day I have heard the sound of drums and flute ...
The sweetest of all sounds is praise.
You want to know how I started playing trumpet? My father bought me one, and I studied the trumpet. And everybody I heard that I liked, I picked up things from.
Instruments sound sweetest when they are touched softest.
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells When on the undulating air they swim!
All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments. It is not the violins and the cornets-it is not the oboe nor the beating drums, nor the score of the baritone singer singing his sweet romanza-nor that of the women's chorus; it is nearer and farther than they.
I'm not an amazing trumpet player. It's mostly smoke and mirrors. You shake the trumpet and it starts to vibrate in a ridiculous drunken way, or you flop notes at the right time and you don't have to play stuff that would take seven years to learn.
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
I become a horn to be heard over whistles.
The context for music is varied and profound. If their fantasy is to be awakened-so that their sounds may be incisive or ravishing-then the menagerie of saints and dragons must be faithfully recalled.
On the field of battle, the spoken word does not carry far enough; hence the institution of gongs and drums ... banners and flags. Gongs and drums, banners and flags, are means whereby the ears and eyes of the host may be focused on one particular point.
If you've only got one horn playing, I still want the sense of ensemble.
From somewhere comes the sound of fire: the sound of dried roses being crumbled in a fist.
Leaden trumpets spit the soot of power they sayI'm on your side when nobody is, cause nobody is.Come sit right here and sleep while I slip poison in your ear
The flute of the infinite is played without ceasing, and its sound is love.
Every ear is tickled with the sweet music of applause.
What is South Africa's sound? What are they supposed to bring that ignites the rest of the body of Christ around the globe?
Sing, of delight drink deep,
Drain spring by cups, not by thimbles.
Heart step up your beat!
Our breasts be the brass of cymbals.
The trombone is the true head of the family of wind instruments ... it has all the serious and powerful tones of sublime musical poetry, from religious, calm and imposing accents to savage, orgiastic outburst.
God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, you piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
... So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky
The oboe sounds like a clarinet with a cold.
Colours in vibration, peeling like silver bells and clanging like bronze bells, proclaiming happiness, passion and love, soul, blood and death.
Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping.