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Rhythm is one of the principal translators between dream and reality. Rhythm might be described as, to the world of sound, what light is to the world of sight. It shapes and gives new meaning. Rhythm was described by Schopenhauer as melody deprived of its pitch.

Edith Sitwell

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Edith Sitwell
Age: 77 †
Born: 1887
Born: September 7
Died: 1964
Died: December 9
Biographer
Essayist
Literary Critic
Poet
Writer
Scarborough
North Yorkshire
Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
Edith Louisa Sitwell
Dame Edith Sitwell
Miss Edith
Sound
Described
Reality
Principal
Dream
Melody
Light
Rhythm
Might
Shapes
Schopenhauer
Giving
Sight
Translators
World
Meaning
Pitch
Gives
Deprived

More quotes by Edith Sitwell

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My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music, and silence.
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The light would show (if it could harden) Eternities of kitchen garden
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I have often wished I had time to cultivate modesty... but I am too busy thinking about myself.
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White as a winding sheet, Masks blowing down the street: Moscow, Paris London, Vienna - all are undone. The drums of death are mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, Mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, The world's floors are quaking, crumbling and breaking.
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I may say that I think greed about poetry is the only permissible greed - it is, indeed, unavoidable.
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The aim of flattery is to soothe and encourage us by assuring us of the truth of an opinion we have already formed about ourselves.
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My temper is not spoilt. I am absolutely non-homicidal. Nor do I ever attack unless I have been attacked first, and then Heaven have mercy upon the attacker, because I don't! I just sharpen my wits on a wooden head as a cat sharpens its claws on the wood legs of a table.
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It is part of the poet's work to show each man what he sees but does not know he sees.
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Why not be oneself? That is the whole secret of a successful appearance. If one is a greyhound, why try to look like a Pekingese?
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It is hardly respectable to be good nowadays.
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I am one of those unhappy persons who inspire bores to the greatest flights of art.
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I am not eccentric. It's just that I am more alive than most people. I am an unpopular electric eel set in a pond of goldfish.
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[History is] that terrible mill in which sawdust rejoins sawdust.
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All great poetry is dipped in the dyes of the heart.
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... all ugliness passes, and beauty endures, excepting of the skin.
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I wouldn't dream of following a fashion... how could one be a different person every three months?
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If one is a greyhound, why try to look like a Pekingese?
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I am an unpopular electric eel set in a pond of goldfish.
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What is the special privilege of youth? It is, I think, the power of looking forward, the firm belief that the future holds something that is worth possessing, and that, therefore, one can let the present moment drop from one without regret and without fear.
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The last faint spark In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad uncomprehending dark, The wounds of the baited bear,-- The blind and weeping bear whom the keepers beat On his helpless flesh . . . the tears of the hunted hare.
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