Browsing Topic Best Horns Quotes

Never try to live on the old manna, nor seek to find help in Egypt. All must come from Jesus or thou art undone forever. Old anointings will not suffice to impart unction to thy spirit; thine head must have fresh oil poured upon it from the golden horn of the sanctuary, or it will cease from its glory.

Some days you get up and put the horn to your chops and it sounds pretty good and you win. Some days you try and nothing works and the horn wins. This goes on and on and then you die and the horn wins.

I want free life, and I want fresh air;And I sigh for the canter after the cattle,The crack of the whip like shots in battle,The medley of horns, and hoofs, and headsThat wars, and wrangles, and scatters and spreads;The green beneath and the blue above,And dash, and danger, and life and love.

Life is a constant oscillation between the sharp horns of dilemmas.

To whatever end. Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountains. Like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the west. Behind the hills, into shadow. How did it come to this?

I used to live at the Cecil Hotel, which was next door to Minton’s [Playhouse]. We used to jam just about every night when we were off. Lester [Young], Don Byas and myself – we would meet there all the time and like, exchange ideas. It wasn’t a battle, or anything. We were all friends. Most of the guys around then knew where I lived. If someone came in Minton’s and started to play – well, they’d give me a ring, or come up and call me down. Either I’d take my horn down, or I’d go down and listen. Those were good days. Had a lot of fun then.

You just let your lower self go, and then it takes on all these aspects of the society – the city with horns blowing, the people yelling things at each other, and the all-in-all violence and chaos of the city. Put that on stage with music, and that’s what this is.

I hate to blow my own horn, but I gave a lot of people fits.

Once, I discovered the skulls of two impala rams, their horns locked into an irreversible figure-of-eight; the two animals had been trapped in combat, latched to each other during the battle of the rut. The harder they had pulled to escape from each other, the more intractably stuck they were, until they had fallen exhausted, to their knees, in an embrace of hatred that had killed them both.

Knowledge is a sacred cow, and my problem will be how we can milk her while keeping clear of her horns.

Man cannot survive except through his mind. He comes on earth unarmed. His brain is his only weapon. Animals obtain food by force. man had no claws, no fangs, no horns, no great strength of muscle. He must plant his food or hunt it. To plant, he needs a process of thought. To hunt, he needs weapons,and to make weapons – a process of thought. From this simplest necessity to the highest religious abstraction, from the wheel to the skyscraper, everything we are and we have comes from a single attribute of man -the function of his reasoning mind.

…the habitual dualist’s solution to the problem of dualism: to solve the dilemma by chopping off one of the horns.

Blow your life through your horn.

I had the chance to play with Benny ‘The King’ Carter here in Copenhagen for three days in the Montmartre, and two days in Paris. ‘What a Thrill.’ He knows so much music, and he is the only person that I get the shakes trying to play my horn behind or with him (smile). However, it was a ball.

Bush to USSS: ‘We need to get back to Wash. We don’t need some tin horn terrorist to scare us off.’

When you’re playing music, say for instance, you’re playing a part of the band and you’re looking at your music, your horn is down into the stand. This way, it’s

[Insects] are not only cold-blooded, and green- and yellow-blooded, but are also cased in a clacking horn. They have rigid eyes and brains strung down their backs. But they make up the bulk of our comrades-at-life, so I look to them for a glimmer of companionship.

High horns, low horns, silence, and finally a pandemonium of trumpets, rattles, croaks, and cries that almost shakes the bog with its nearness … A new day has begun on the crane marsh. A sense of time lies thick and heavy on such a place … Our ability to perceive quality in nature begins, as in art, with the pretty. It expands through successive stages of the beautiful to values as yet uncaptured by language.

I hear these melodies. I hear horn lines and string lines. That’s what’s fun about recording with an orchestra.

I would say George Mitchell was like Clark Kent sometimes with his horn rimmed glasses and his very quiet manner. People say, well, he’s just a quiet leader, but then he emerges as super hero and begins to move this legislation. He led by example.

I shouldn’t toot my own horn, but he who doth not toot his own horn alloweth it to remain untooteth.

As far as arrangements after the basic track is cut, if I’m writing a horn arrangement or playing strings, I might arrange that, plan that out. Other times, I’ll just sit and roll tape.

A horn has that voice quality, and an electric guitar can emulate that. But playing an acoustic, the notes don’t sustain like that.

You can not pluck roses without fear of thorns, Nor enjoy a fair wife without danger of horns.

Hooves clomping over the whitewashed planks, Doren sprinted along the boardwalk after Rondus, a portly satyr with butterscotch fur and horns that curved away from each other. Puffing hard, Rondus cut through a gazebo and started down the stairs to the field. Only a few steps behind, Doren went airborne and slammed into the heavyset satyr. Together they pitched violently forward into the grass, staining their skin green.

I don’t think I’m singing. I feel like I’m playing a horn…What comes out is what I feel.

O hark,O hear! how thin and clear And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

I learned, too, how it was possible with the help of the picture and action to transform an apparently insignificant violin passage into an incident, and to lift a simple horn call into a thing of stupendous significance by means of scenic emphasis.

One thing I point out is, a lot of people tooting the horn of amateurism, actually, these people were professionals. Some are professors who are employed full time. Others are marketers or business consultants.

One function, at least, of true wilderness is to provide a refuge from the crassitudes of civilization-whether visible, intangible, audible-whether of billboard, of pavement, of auto horn-all of these are urban essences; all are negations of wilderness.

When you have 13 horns, and one is soloing, you have 12 people to play the richest, fullest chord you could ever imagine behind that solo.

I feel like I’m pretty good but I don’t like to toot my own horn, you know. I want to let the work speak for itself and kind of move on to the next thing.

Just because a guy rings your bell, doesn’t mean you have to toot his horn.

Here, I think, lies our real dilemma. Probably we cannot, certainly we shall not, retrace our steps. We are tamed animals (some with kind, some with cruel, masters) and should probably starve if we got out of our cage. That is one horn of the dilemma. But in an increasingly planned society, how much of what I value can survive? That is the other horn.

I had a ten-piece band when I was 21 years old, the Bruce Springsteen Band. This is just a slightly expanded version of a band I had before I ever signed a record contract. We had singers and horns.