As we'd slogged away for weeks on the Convention Hall stage in isolation, trying to pump life into our much-vaunted songbook, there'd been only one thing missing: you.

All I do know is that as we age the weight of our unsorted baggage becomes heavier...much heavier. With each passing year, the price of our refusing to do that sorting rises higher and higher.

As Branford Marsalis said in a beautiful essay he write upon Clarence's death, C was blessed with 'the power of musical intent.

I'll love you with all the madness in my soul.

Aging is scary but fascinating, and great talent morphs in strange and often enlightening ways.

It's nice to see how the suffering does away in time. It always does

Hypocrisy has its place in the ages of strong belief: in which even when one is compelled to exhibit a different belief one does not abandon the belief on already has.

Lots of people go mad in January. Not as many as in May, of course. Nor June. But January is your third most common month for madness.

I have the vagary of taking a lively interest in mathematical subjects only where I may anticipate ingenious association of ideas and results recommending themselves by elegance or generality.

If we, who have been redeemed, don't say what we have been redeemed from, how are those in the same bondage going to even know that there is hope.

I wish that we did have a magic wand which we could wave and hey presto! Magic! Unfortunately life is not like that.

Great, they give blind kids guns," I said, trying to lessen his horror. "I don't even let Iggy have a gun. Usually.

Certainty, not data, is knowledge.

Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes, and Sin with his sodden face follows close behind her. Misery wakes us in the morning and Shame sits with us at night.

Man does not understand nor accept immortality except on condition of self-remembrance.