I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment - we are all defined by something we can’t change.

I didn’t know who she was, but I had this fire inside me for someone I knew existed.

When Bach died some of his children sold his scores to the butcher they had decided the paper was more useful for wrapping meat. In a small village in Germany a father brought home a limp goose wrapped in paper that was covered with strange and beautiful symbols.

They haven't made love for years but sleep holding hands

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.

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.