Deprivation Is The Mother Of Poetry.

The Candles Burned The Moon Went Down The Polished Hill The Milky Town Transparent, Weightless, Luminous Uncovering The Two Of Us On That Fundamental Ground Where Love's Unwilled, Unleashed, Unbound And Half The Perfect World Is Found.

In Dreams The Truth Is Learned That All Good Works Are Done In The Absence Of A Caress.

Prayer Is Translation. A Man Translates Himself Into A Child Asking For All There Is In A Language He Has Barely Mastered.

I've Expressed My Gratitude To My Son Many Times. And His Career Is Far From Undistinguished, And It Was A Great Privilege To Have Someone Of This Skill Bringing This Album To Conclusion.

I Don't Remember Lighting This Cigarette And I Don't Remember If I'm Here Alone Or Waiting For Someone.