Behold congenial Autumn comes, the Sabbath of the Year.
Everything worthwhile ends. We are in the perpetual process now: creation, maturation, cessation.
Let no vandalism of avarice or neglect, no ravages of time, testify to the present or to the coming generations, that we have forgotten, as a people, the cost of a free and undivided Republic.
Music’s the medicine of the mind.
Music is the medicine of the mind.
When I was your age, art was a lonely thing: no galleries, no collecting, no critics, no money. We didn’t have mentors. We didn’t have parents. We were alone. But it was a great time, because we had nothing to lose and a vision to gain.