There's no beginning to the farmer's year, <br> Only recurrent patterns on a scroll <br> Unwinding. . .
Mozart 's music is very mysterious.
Everything has a cause and the cause of anything is everything.
The mind of the people is like mud, from which arises strange and beautiful things.
Mozart's mental grip never loosens; he never abandons himself to any one sense; even at his most ecstatic moments his mind is vigorous, alert, and on the wing. He dives unerringly on to his finest ideas like a bird of prey, and once an idea is seized he soars off again with an undiminished power.
You are who you are. It doesn't make any point to go out and buy the Top 40 albums to see what those acts are doing. There's no point in hearing what's going on. The only thing that's going on is what's been going forever. It's just that some people dig that bag and some people dig the other bag.
Civilised life, you know, is based on a huge number of illusions in which we all collaborate willingly. The trouble is we forget after a while that they are illusions and we are deeply shocked when reality is torn down around us.
There's no beginning to the farmer's year, Only recurrent patterns on a scroll Unwinding. . .
It is good manners, not rank, wealth, or beauty, that constitute the real lay.
I'm a 'what if' person. I have always felt that failure was a completely underrated experience. I have taken blows. I have had high moments. But I don't think the blows have ever hardened me. My enthusiasms are still big.