For lonely people, rain is a chance to be touched.

Actually, years mean nothing. It's what's inside them.

Where are people going? I wonder what they hope will happen and what they are afraid of? For me it's the same thing and has to do with being loved.

Music is only a mystery to people who want it explained. Music and love are the same.

I think we keep these moments of rejection and acceptance very close. I think we carry them always, like cracked shells from which a part of us once hatched.

You can't put a price on the rituals of love, because you never know what will happen next. I suppose fear is part of the excitement and we can't have one without the other.

Sometimes, language is the sound of longing