Seven to eleven is a huge chunk of life, full of dulling and forgetting. It is fabled that we slowly lose the gift of speech with animals, that birds no longer visit our windowsills to converse. As our eyes grow accustomed to sight they armor themselves against wonder.

G-d is alive. Magic is afoot. G-d is afoot. Magic is alive.

this is every musician's dream, to stand in front of an audience and not have to prove your credentials.

He knew that hair couldn't feel; he kissed her hair.

I've seen the future and it's murder.

You were Marlon Brando, I was Steve McQueen, you were K.Y. Jelly, I was Vaseline.

All the lousy little poets coming around trying to sound like Charles Manson.