I always try to be alert to the potential for repetition, for a decaying orbit with regard to my use of technique, etc.

When we wake, it is because something, some event, some pinprick even, disturbs the edges of what we’ve taken as reality.

I see music as an aid. It overcomes my internal editor, especially when the music evokes the character or the mood I'm trying to build.

I do believe very much in the idea of unexpected or "convulsive" beauty - beauty in the service of liberty.

Nothing that lived and breathed was truly objective—even in a vacuum, even if all that possessed the brain was a self-immolating desire for the truth.

Who had the bigger burden? The one who had to watch the other person endure or the one who endured?

History has shown us all too often the consequences of dreaming poorly or not at all.