Music is your own experience, your thoughts, your wisdom. If you don't live it, it won't come out of your horn. They teach you that music has boundaries. But, man, there's no boundary line to art.
Don't be afraid, just play the music.
Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors - the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.
You've got to learn your instrument. Then, you practice, practice, practice. And then, when you finally get up there on the bandstand, forget all that and just wail.
Don't play the saxophone. Let it play you.
What is man without the beasts? For if all the beast were gone, man would die of a great loneliness of the spirit.
They teach you there's a boundary line to music. But, man, there's no boundary line to art.
If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?
Man does not weave this web of life. He is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
All things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man... the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.
Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless.
When the last red man shall have perished from the earth and his memory among the white men shall have become a myth, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe. The white man will never be alone. Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless.
Youth is impulsive. When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, it denotes that their hearts are black, and that they are often cruel and relentless, and our old men and old women are unable to restrain them. Thus it has ever been.
Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fled the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the morning sun.
Our people are ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide that will never return. The white man's God cannot love our people, or He would protect them.
Whatever Seattle says, the great chief at Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the return of the sun or the seasons.
Humans merely share the earth. We can only protect the land, not own it.
My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain.
Don't play the saxophone, let the saxophone play you.
To us, the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground.
If you don't live it, it won't come out of your horn.
There is no death, only a change of worlds.
Revenge by young men is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose, know better.
I realized by using the high notes of the chords as a melodic line, and by the right harmonic progression, I could play what I heard inside me. That's when I was born.
If you don't live it, it won't come out your horn.
Hear with your eyes, see with your ears
Music is your own experience, your thoughts, your wisdom. If you don’t live it, it won’t come out of your horn.
