Very few of our race can be said to be yet finished men. We still carry sticking to us some remains of the preceding inferior quadruped organization. We call these millions men; but they are not yet men. Half-engaged in the soil, pawing to get free, man needs all the music that can be brought to disengage him.
I was doing someones hair the day I first saw my guitar. . . a guy was walking down the street with it, and knew that guitar was mine (a 1953 weathered Fender Telecaster). . I said I'll get you the most beautiful guitar you've ever seen and I'll trade you straight across. . . I found him a purple Telecaster and said here's your guitar. . . that was it, it was like he knew that guitar belonged to me.