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1 " The music of hope is everywhere, but to hear it, you need to ignore the muddy jangle of life's hassles. "
― Christine M. Knight , Life Song
2 " The mind provides a person with the mental fortitude to survive any physical or spiritual crisis. For the present time, I am satisfying myself by building a little shop in the back of my mind, a place where stillness resides and a jangle of thoughts can come and visit. I am building a room of my own, a room that I can retreat to when needed, a place where I am always welcomed regardless of the trappings of this ordinary and finite life. I do not need much as far as earthy rewards, but I certainly will not spurn food, drink, companionship, love, affection, friendship, or other physical, emotional, spiritual, aesthetic, and sensuous pleasures that find their way to my humble doorstep. "
― , Dead Toad Scrolls
3 " The jangle of the telephone rousted Matt out of a deep sleep. He never dreamed. Dreams were too messy. "
― Peggy Webb , The Mona Lucy
4 " There's a jangle to the music of the dead. I mean that certain something that's so happy and so sad at the same time. The notes almost make a perfect harmony, but don't. Then they do but quickly crash into dissonance. They simmer in that sweet in-between rhythm section rattling along all the while. Chords collapse chaotically into one another and just when you think it's gonna spill into total nonsense, it stands back up and comes through sweet as a lullaby on your mami's lips. Songs that'll make people tap their feet and drink melancholically but not realize the twisting genius lurking within until generations later. "
― Daniel José Older , Salsa Nocturna: Stories (Bone Street Rumba #2.5)
5 " I never thought the touch of another person could make the nerves jangle and dance beneath my skin. It was like I had slept the last few months away and now, suddently, I was waking up. "
6 " The evening's light, silvery, casts its dull brightness onto the trees--trees gelid in this blue light of winter. But whiteness dominates with the pines and evergreens steeped in vibrant grades of silver. I hear notes in the mist, like silvery chattering, coins in a pocket, the jangle of keys. Pg 217 "
