Fare thee well my nightingale, I lived but to be near you. Thow you are singing somewhere still I can no longer hear you.

The term clinical depression finds its way into too many conversations these days. One has a sense that a catastrophe has occurred in the psychic landscape.

As our eyes grow accustomed to sight they armour themselves against wonder.

Women stand for the objective world for a man. They stand for the thing that you're not and that's what you always reach for in a song.

I've always held the song in high regard because songs have got me through so many sinks of dishes and so many humiliating courting events.

Everyone has a kind of magical system that they employ in the hopes that this will open up the channels.

It’s a pity if someone… has to console himself for the wreck of his days with the notion that somehow his voice, his work embodies the deepest, most obscure, freshest, rawest oyster of reality in the unfathomable refrigerator of the heart’s ocean, but I am such a one, and there you have it.