Nietzsche About Music Novels & Stories

It took him minutes before he answered and the loud silence envelopes us once again, while I am waiting for him to answer me. “Why? Do you think I can do both?” I automatically nod my head, making sure that he believes every bit of what I am going to say for him. He laugh and ran his fingers on his hair, as if I am stressing the hell out of his mind. I furrowed my brows and watch him as he took another sip on the glass wine, ignoring what I said. “You did not believe in yourself, right?” I asked once again. He give me a glance for another time before shaking his head. “Music is not for me anymore and I am not gonna let myself fall for it anymore.”

“They’re fuckin’ awesome, right?” “They’re something.” “You know that bit at the beginning is like from this symphony about the planets? That part’s called Mars, the Bringer of War, and it sounds just like that. The real thing, I mean.” “You like symphonies, too?” “I like lots of stuff,” he said with a shrug. “A man who limits his interests, limits his life.” “I guess so,” I said. “Vincent Price said that,” he said. “He’s a gourmet, and he knows a lot about art and all kinds of stuff. Not just acting. Most people don’t know that.”

he commented. She shook her head. “No one in our family has this kind of phobia. Maybe it was just destined to happen.” “What kind of music do you always listen to?” he added. “Classical music. It really calms me. It can also improve my mood.” “We have the same taste when it comes to music. Classical music for me speaks out things for you that you can’t. It makes me realize that there is actually something more to this world, something deep, hidden, and mysterious which gives meaning to life.”

"Neither are you." They kept talking. She told him she'd been thinking about quitting her job as a financial consultant to do something creative—writing, videos, she wasn't sure yet. He listened more than he spoke. It wasn't uncomfortable. Eventually, somewhere between a refill and the next track, he quoted Nietzsche without thinking."A thought, even a possibility, can shatter and transform us." She blinked."So you're saying if I hadn't stared back at you for that one song, I would've missed the chance to be shattered and rebuilt—which means you owe me a whole lifetime."

"It was remarkable." "It was also highly personal," added another board member, a stern-looking man whose name I'd forgotten but whose disapproval was unmistakable. "Perhaps too personal for a public venue." "All great art is personal," I said, finding my voice again. "Bach's compositions were love letters to God. Chopin's were love letters to George Sand. Brahms wrote his violin sonatas for Clara Schumann, whom he loved for forty years. Music has always been about translating the deepest human emotions into something universal."

"I'm not very cultured." "You decorate wedding cakes and go to art exhibitions and appreciate Rachmaninoff and Liszt. That sounds cultured to me." "Liszt? Another piano music writer?" She snorted and sat back. "Yep, another dead white Romantic. One of the greatest composers and virtuosos ever to live. Complete psychopath, too. His music is used to haze pianists who're full of themselves and think they're good. Remind me to send you a link to a video; you'll understand afterwards. I... enjoy some of his work. It's challenging- a good workout."

He turned me towards him and he kissed my forehead. “So, Christy I heard from a birdie a traitorous birdie that I am your favorite musician is that true.” “Yes, you are the reason why I can play piano, the violin, the cello and a lot of other instruments. And I listen to your music nonstop. It always makes me feel better on days that I’m stressed out.” “Wow that’s amazing, Christy. Thank you so much.” “For what?” I asked. “Not many people like my music especially with Bach out there and other musicians. And especially now in the twenty first century no one listens to classical or romantic era music anymore.”

“True art is a bloodletting. It requires a sacrifice. You gave me your soul for technical perfection. Now you must learn to give your humanity to the music.” He stopped before her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He smelled of smoke and dark spices, a scent that was uniquely his and that made her head spin. He reached out, not touching her, but tracing the line of her jaw in the air. A spark of static electricity jumped between them, and she gasped. “You are my masterpiece, Saskia,” he whispered, his silver eyes burning into hers. “Every note you play is a reflection of my will. But lately I hear something else. I hear you.”

She asked, a bit of fake cheer now injected into her tone and even though I was curious about the backstory, I still felt bad for bringing it up and dampening her mood like this. "All sorts of music. Soul feeding music. As long as it's good music, I'm good. If it has a deep meaning, I'm even better." "Oh wow. Soul feeding music? But ain't all music soul-feeding? I mean, all music always has an undertone. I dislike Naira Marley, hate him even but look at the opening line of one of his songs Ole everybody, Eni Ile mon ba sha ni barrow. Truer words have never been saying. It just reflects our how society and how the world is at large."

He spoke with difficulty. I looked at Alexteris, and in that instant, he caught upto my cue and said in a jolly voice, "I couldn't agree more with the Noble General. In fact, I feel that your music is Heaven-defying that ordinary people are unworthy of even being graced with such bestowment." "................................." Now I was the one who was about to spit out old blood.