The Maestro says it's Mozart but it sounds like bubble gum when you're waiting for the miracle to come.

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love

I've forgotten most of what I've read and, frankly, it never seemed very important to me or to the world.

How can I begin anything new with all of yesterday in me?

What a beautiful testament to the creative spirit and its true motives, to creative contribution coming from a place of purpose rather than a hunger for profit.

I would say the hummingbird really deserves the royalties on [some of my songs].

Ah, grief makes us precise!