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“It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye.”
― Kristin Cashore, Fire

“Life' wrote a friend of mine, 'is a public performance on the violin, in which you must learn the instrument as you go along.”
― E.M. Forster, A Room with a View

“There is nothing more to be said or to be done tonight, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable ways of our fellowmen.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Five Orange Pips

“How insufficient the memory, to fail before death.
how will hear these notes when the train slides
into the yard, the lights turned out, and the song

lingers with breaths rising from empty seats?
I know I am too human to praise what is fading.
But for now, I just want to listen as the train fills

completely with warm water, and we are all
swimming slowly toward the man with Mozart
flowing from his hands. I want nothing

but to put my fingers inside his mouth,
let that prayer hum through my veins.
I want crawl into the hole in his violin.

I want to sleep there
until my flesh
becomes music.”
― Ocean Vuong

“What are these?" Maxon asked, brushing across the tips of my fingers as we walked.
"Calluses. They're from pressing down on violin strings four hours a day."
"I've never noticed them before."
"Do they bother you?" I was the lowest caste of the six girls left, and I doubted any of them had hands like mine.
Maxon stopped moving and lifted my fingers to his lips, kissing the tiny, worn tips.
"On the contrary. I find them rather beautiful." I felt myself blush. "I've seen the world – admittedly mostly through bulletproof glass or from the tower of some ancient castle – but I've seen it. And I have access to the answers of a thousand questions at my disposal. But this small hand here?" He looked deeply into my eyes. "This hand makes sounds incomparable to anything I've ever heard. Sometimes I think I only dreamed that I heard you play the violin, it was so beautiful. These calluses are proof that it was real.”
― Kiera Cass, The Elite

“For me,
you are fresh water
that falls from trees
when it has stopped raining. For me,
you are cinnamon that lingers
on the tongue and gives
bitter words
sweetening.
For me, you are the scent of
violins and vision
of valleys
smiling.
And still,
for me, your loveliness never ends.
It traverses
the world
and finds its
way back to me.
Only
me.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“…the violin �� that most human of all instruments��”
― Louisa May Alcott, Jo's Boys

“The only reason I am successful is because I have stayed true to myself.”
― Lindsey Stirling

“A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

“There is no competition of sounds between a nightingale and a violin.”
― Dejan Stojanovic

“Furthermore--though it was quite irrelevant now--he had no idea his killer, Kazuo Kiriyama, had, in his mansion that was much larger than Toshinori's home in Shiroiwa-cho, mastered the violin at a level far superior to Toshinori's a long time ago--and then tossed his violin into the trash.”
― Koushun Takami, Battle Royale

“To say she is only a woman is to say a violin is a piece of wood with strings, and Dante is mere ink printed on paper.”
― Bruce Crown, Forlorn Passions

“A poet is a man who puts up a ladder to a star and climbs it while playing a violin.”
― Edmond de Goncourt

“The true mission of the violin is to imitate the accents of the human voice, a noble mission that has earned for the violin the glory of being called the king of instruments”
― Charles-Auguste de Beriot

“I’d heard fiddle music, but I’d never known it could stab you like a thorn and make you like the sting of it. I’d never heard none that made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. Or made you see the sun coming up out of a big pool of water, while the frogs hollered from the wild onions growing along the banks and the speckled bass popped their tails in the shoal water and the mockingbirds sat in the tops of the cedars and sang like they do at daybreak.”
― Fred Gipson, Hound Dog Man

“From the first note I knew it was different from anything I had ever heard.... It began simply, but with an arresting phrase, so simple, but eloquent as a human voice. It spoke, beckoning gently as it unwound, rising and tensing. It spiraled upward, the tension growing with each repeat of the phrasing, and yet somehow it grew more abandoned, wilder with each note. His eyes remained closed as his fingers flew over the strings, spilling forth surely more notes than were possible from a single violin. For one mad moment I actually thought there were more of them, an entire orchestra of violins spilling out of this one instrument. I had never heard anything like it--it was poetry and seduction and light and shadow and every other contradiction I could think of. It seemed impossible to breathe while listening to that music, and yet all I was doing was breathing, quite heavily. The music itself had become as palpable a presence in that room as another person would have been--and its presence was something out of myth.”
― Deanna Raybourn, Silent in the Grave

“You can buy an expensive violin, but you can’t buy 10 years of practice.”
― Neeraj Agnihotri, Procrasdemon - The Artist's Guide to Liberation from Procrastination

“When they had hurried to the train station with their violin cases, they had drawn almost as many stares as they would on any normal day when their hair was to their knees and sheeting behind them like red silk. A poetic fruit-seller had told them once that they looked like dryads, and they did still, only now they looked like dryads who had tired of snagging their hair on brambles and sliced it all off on the edge of a knife.”
― Laini Taylor, Lips Touch: Three Times

“Leonardo cant be explained. Or Newton, or Shakespeare. Or endless others. Well. Probably not endless. But at least we know their names. But unless you're willing to concede that God invented the violin there is a figure who will never be known. A small man who went with his son into the stunted forests of the little iceage of fifteenth century Italy and sawed and split the maple trees and put the flitches to dry for seven years and then stood in the slant light of his shop one morning and said a brief prayer of thanks to his creator and then–knowing this perfect thing–took up his tools and turned to its construction. Saying now we begin.”
― Cormac McCarthy, Stella Maris

“As the leaves fell slowly
from the trees,
you played your violin for me,
and I recited my poem for you...”
― Avijeet Das

“« C’est un livre magnifique. En pleine période de folie fasciste et d’engouement militariste et ultranationaliste, Yoshino a eu l’audace d’écrire, à l’intention des jeunes Japonais, un livre qui prônait l’usage critique de la raison et défendait la supériorité éthique de l’amitié des égaux par rapport à la soumission rampante et aveugle à l’égard des aînés et des dominants. »”
― Akira Mizubayashi, Âme brisée

“He picked up a violin which lay on the table and drew the bow once or twice across the strings. Tuppence ground her teeth, and even the explorer blenched. The performer laid the instrument down again.

‘A few chords from Mosgovskensky,�� he murmured.

As the visitor left the office, Tuppence grabbed the violin, and putting it in the cupboard turned the key in the lock.

‘If you must be Sherlock Holmes,�� she observed, ‘I’ll get you a nice little syringe and a bottle labelled cocaine, but for God’s sake leave that violin alone.”
― Agatha Christie, Partners in Crime

“Would you rather have a 100 percent chance nothing happens to your Stradivarius, or would you rather have music coming from your Stradivarius? You can’t have both.”
― Patrick Bringley

“Ignore what the composer wrote. F*ck it. He's dead.”
― Brett Yang

“As the leaves fell slowly
from the trees,
you played your violin for me,
and I recited my poem for you...”
― Avijeet Das

“I wasn’t the violin out of tune anymore. It was like he suddenly came to the piano and played the A so I could tune my string. It felt so right to be next to him, so comfortable. My rapid-beating heart began to slow, and I let my exhausted body lean closer to him. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. He stroked the side of my face until, at last, my mind and body gave up the fight of the last two days and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.”
― Robin M. King, Remembrandt

“Moon River�� started to flow gracefully out of the violin. The notes crept over to me and danced along the goosebumps on my skin.”
― Brooke Gilbert, The Paris Soulmate

“Lindsey Stirling?��
Shizuka gestured for Astrid’s laptop.
Astrid peered at the screen.
“Some sort of elf, fighting a very large dinosaur?��
“Dragon, Astrid. Dragon.��
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? And quite flexible. Oh �� goodness �� do you think you could have done that while you were playing?”
― Ryka Aoki, Light from Uncommon Stars

“With the violin nestled below my chin, I feel more at home than I ever have in any house. With my fingers on the soundboard and my right hand holding the bow, I close my eyes briefly and breathe. It's like a part of my body has been missing, and now, at last, it's reattached.”
― Emily Barth Isler, The Color of Sound

“Nothing can reach the abyss of sorrow the way a violin can.”
― Rajesh `