Hands have their own language.

Every moment is the paradox of now or never.

If you travel too often, you actually come face-to-face with what you're trying to escape. I feel like when I travel alone, sometimes it's like being locked in a hotel room with my own worst enemy.

Love is also a violence, and cannot be undone.

Music helps us understand where we have come from but, more importantly, what has happened to us.

I wanted to explain that trusting is harder than being trusted.

Could it be that first love was the only true love? And that after those first fires had been doused or burned out, men and women chose whom they would love based on worldly needs, and then reenacted the rituals and feelings of that first pure experience - nursed the flames that once burned of their own accord