The past is a finite resource.

The best part of my life is gone$$$ and what remains is whizzing past so quickly I feel like I'm Krazy-Glue'ed onto a mechanical bull of a time machine.

Life is so expensive.

If nothing else$$$ we simply get used to being alive.

Curiosity is insubordination in its purest form.

If you would be loved$$$ be lovable.

Love is the bone and sinew of my curse.

The whole problem can be stated quite simply by asking$$$ "Is there a meaning to music?" My answer would be$$$ "Yes." And "Can you state in so many words what the meaning is?" My answer to that would be$$$ "No."

A common man marvels at uncommon things. A wise man marvels at the commonplace.

Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast$$$ to soften rocks$$$ or bend a knotted oak.