And come, blue deeps! magnificently strown With coloured clouds - large, light, and fugitive.

You can't just be reactive to the things going on in your life. You have to imagine, and you have to plunder other people's work, books, poems, ideas, observations.

October's gold is dim — the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp.

I guess I'm just a heart-on-sleeve type of human being.

Everything's stolen. Everything precious - be it a kiss, or be it James Brown - gets misappropriated to the aid of the advertising executives. So, an act of reclamation, somewhere else to be: that's what I want my music to be. Somewhere you can step into. A place.

I don't know what I want, but I know what I don't want: I don't want to just repeat myself.

There's nightingales calling, shooting stars falling, like jewels in the rain.