Only Keep Still, Wait, And Hear, And

I Write The Way You Might Arrange Flowers. Not Every Try Works, But Each One Launches Another. Every Constraint, Even Dullness, Frees Up A New Design.

For Me, University Was Just Awful Because It Was Closing One Door After The Other Of All These Candy Shops Of Professional Possibilities.

Music Forecasts The Past, Recalls The Future. Now And Then The Difference Falls Away, And In One Simple Gift Of Circling Sound, The Ear Solves The Scrambled Cryptogram. One Abiding Rhythm, Present And Always, And You're Free. But A Few Measures More, And The Cloak Of Time Closes Back Around You.

I'd Like, Each Time Out As A Writer, To Reinvent Who I Am And What I'm Doing. That's One Of The Great Pleasures And Rewards Of The Occupation.

The Job Of Taste Was To Thin The Insane Torrent Of Human Creativity Down To Manageable Levels. But The Job Of Appetite Was Never To Be Happy With Taste.