The violin sings but the fiddle dances
I have learned that there lies dormant in the souls of all men a penchant for some particular musical instrument, and an unsuspected yearning to learn to play on it, that are bound to wake up and demand attention some day. Therefore, you who rail at such as disturb your slumbers with unsuccessful and demoralizing attempts to subjugate a fiddle, beware! for sooner or later your own time will come.
The most beautiful music of all is the music of what happens
One man loves his fiddle (or, alas! his neighbours sometimes) for all the melodies he can wake from it - it is but a selfish love ! Another, who is no fiddler, may love a fiddle too; for its symmetry, its neatness, its colour - its delicate grainings, the lovely lines and curves of its back and front - for its own sake, so to speak. He may have a whole galleryful of fiddles to love in this innocent way - a harem ! - any yet not know a single note of music, or ever care to hear one. He will dust them and stroke them, and take them down and try to put them in tune - pizzicato ! - and put them back again, and call them ever such sweet little pet names .. and breathe his little troubles into them, and they will give back inaudible little murmurs in sympathetic response, like a damp Aeolian harp; but he will never draw a bow across the strings, nor wake a single cord - or discord ! Any who shall say he is not wise in his generation ? It is but an old-fashioned philistine notion that fiddles were only made to be played upon - the fiddles themselves are beginning to resent it; and rightly, I wot !
...genius itself succeeds only by arduous self-training...to play on the fiddle it is not merely necessary to take a bow and fiddle with it.
Friends are like fiddle strings, they must not be screwed too tight.
We consider that the man who can fiddle all through one of those Virginia reels without losing his grip, may be depended upon in any kind of emergency.
While fiddling...don't Bb or B#, just Bnatural.
There is nothing, I think, in which the power of art is shown so much as in playing on the fiddle. In all other things we can do something at first. Any man will forge a bar of iron, if you give him a hammer; not so well as a smith, but tolerably. A man will saw a piece of wood, and make a box, though a clumsy one; but give him a fiddle and a fiddle-stick, and he can do nothing.
In a fiddlers house, all are dancers.
A good and true woman is said to resemble a Cremona fiddle: age but increases its worth and sweetens its tone.
A man must pay the fiddler, in my case it so happened that a whole symphony orchestra often had to be subsidized.
A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy.
He is fiddling while Rome is burning, and, unlike the enormous majority of people who do this, fiddling with his face towards the flames.
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For the good are always the merry
Save by an evil chance
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance.