Music, of all the arts, stands in a special region, unlit by any star but its own, and utterly without meaning ... except its own.

It would be nice to hear someone accidentally whistle something of mine, somewhere, just once.

You can sit there, tense and worried, freezing the creative energies, or you can start writing something. It doesn't matter what. In five or ten minutes, the imagination will heat, the tightness will fade, and a certain spirit and rhythm will take over.

Elvis is the greatest cultural force in the twentieth century. He introduced the beat to everything, music, language, clothes, it's a whole new social revolution - the 60's comes from it.

Inspiration is wonderful when it happens, but the writer must develop an approach for the rest of the time... The wait is simply too long.

Life without music is unthinkable.

Wine snobbery, of course, is part showmanship, part sophistication, part knowledge, and part bluff