Perhaps all music, even the newest, is not so much something discovered as something that re-emerges from where it lay buried in the memory, inaudible as a melody cut in a disc of flesh. A composer lets me hear a song that has always been shut up silent within me.

Betrayal is beautiful.

It's the hour when night breaks away from the day, my dove, let me go.

They spent their time doing nothing... they let intimacy fuse them.

There are mornings when all men experience with fatigue a flush of tenderness that makes them horny.

Power may be at the end of a gun, but sometimes it's also at the end of the shadow or the image of a gun.

The despondency that follows makes me feel somewhat like a shipwrecked man who spies a sail, sees himself saved, and suddenly remembers that the lens of his spyglass has a flaw, a blurred spot -- the sail he has seen.