I Couldn’t Bear To Think About The

The Outward Manifestations Of An Inner Combustion Are Never Very Directed.

That’s Why; He’s Worried About How His Life Is Turning Out, And He’s Lonely, And Lonely People Are The Bitterest Of Them All

Over The Last Couple Of Years, The Photos Of Me When I Was A Kid... Well, They've Started To Give Me A Little Pang Or Something - Not Unhappiness, Exactly, But Some Kind Of Quiet, Deep Regret... I Keep Wanting To Apologize To The Little Guy: "i'm Sorry, I've Let You Down. I Was The Person Who Was Supposed To Look After You, But I Blew It: I Made Wrong Decisions At Bad Times, And I Turned You Into Me.

I Love The Relationship That Anyone Has With Music ... Because There's Something In Us That Is Beyond The Reach Of Words, Something That Eludes And Defies Our Best Attempts To Spit It Out. ... It's The Best Part Of Us Probably.

The Kind Of Love My Mum Talks About Is Full Of Worry And Work And Forgiving People And Putting Up With Things And Stuff Like That. It's Not A Lot Of Fun, That's For Sure. If That Really Is Love, The Kind My Mum Talks About, Then Nobody Can Ever Know If They Love Somebody, Can They? It Seems Like What She's Saying Is, If You're Pretty Sure You Love Somebody, The Way I Was Sure In Those Few Weeks, Then You Can't Love Them, Because That Isn't What Love Is. Trying To Understand What She Means By Love Would Do Your Head In.