Autumn is leaving its mellowness behind for its spiky, rotted stage. Don't remember summer even saying goodbye.

If you show someone something you've written, you give them a sharpened stake, lie down in your coffin, and say, ‘When you’re ready’.

A mountain you're plannin' on climbin' ain't the same as the one you ain't. It ain't so pretty.

…and there, in the background, the sky’s sediment had sunk to a place where all the woe of the words ‘I am’ dissolved into blue peace. He said it. ‘The ocean.

How vulgar, this hankering after immortality, how vain, how false. Composers are merely scribblers of cave paintings. One writes music because winter is eternal and because, if one didn't, the wolves and blizzards would be at one's throat all the sooner.

The body is the outermost layer of the mind.

Men invented money Women invented mutual aid