At liminality, at a transitional point between his last night dream and reality, he realizes he has made a big mistake and happiness is possible without death. (Coming back to himself.)

Writer is always alone. But every author is a creator, and gods are lonely.

Is it difficult to recognize spring when the air is dancing with joy and the flowers are blooming bright colorful smiles?

What man can imagine he may one day achieve.

You have to have some kind of power of observation, almost like a trained observer.

The hollow horn plays wasted words, proves to warn that he not busy being born is busy dying.

The white man's God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers?

I am thrilled to be a member of the Kobalt family. I've never felt so taken care of on every level. As a songwriter, publisher and friend...there is no better home than Kobalt!

Since I'm allergic to various things, the army wouldn't accept me during the war, and I got into the Office of War Information, which sent music to Europe.

Everyone felt comfortable with these guys and what their vision was, and when they said they want to keep the staff intact, that was very encouraging.

God never jests with us, and will not compromise the end of nature, by permitting any inconsequence in its procession.

Music doesn't have to be so rule-based - and so strict in its structures, construction and perception.