Camerado! This is no book; who touches this touches a man.

I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else.

Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding; And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.

Produce great men, the rest follows.

All music is is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments.

Now I will do nothing but listen to accrue what I hear into this song. To let sounds contribute toward it. I hear the sound I love. The sound of the human voice. I hear all sounds running together.

Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me, if I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me.