Life is like a trumpet - if you don't put anything into it, you don't get anything out of it.

In the South of long ago whenever a new man appeared for work in any of the laborers gangs, he would be asked if he could sing. If he could he got the job. The singing of these working men set the rhythm for the work.

Whenever I heard the song of a bird and the answering call of its mate, I could visualize the notes in scale, all built up within my consciousness as a natural symphony.

With a guitar I would be able to express the things I felt in sounds.

The name of my ailment was longing, and it was not cured till I finally went to the department store and counted out the money in small coins before the dismayed clerk. When I came to the house, I held up the instrument before the eyes of the astonished household.

Nature was my kindergarten.

You'll never miss the water 'til the well runs dry.