When you are listening to someone you respect, treat their whispers like screams
There is something about guitars—maybe something magical—when played right, which evokes past, mysterious, barely-conscious sentiments, both individual and universal.
I had a big background in listening to classical music and I started trying to compose, like I was playing the guitar but I heard an orchestra in my head.
When I play, I very quickly put myself into a light hypnotic trance and compose while playing, drawing directly from the emotions.
I just want to be treated like an average guy.
How can I be a folk? I'm from the suburbs you know.
But I say these things in an objective dispassionate manner because, you know, and I can't explain why, but being one of the greatest guitarists in the world simply is not very important to me.
The Supreme Court's only armor is the cloak of public trust; its sole ammunition, the collective hopes of our society.
There was nowhere to sit except the bunk, which was covered with rotting food, and a wooden stool, upon which sat a large fur-covered lump—an old cheese, perhaps, or a dead cat.
We are not actually in charge of life, yet we behave as if we are the masters of our own destiny. The realization of this fact is quite a hard one. The ridiculousness of our pomposity and presumption can only result in anger or humor.
Climate change is real. The science is compelling. And the longer we wait, the harder the problem will be to solve.