My Father Was A Physicist And Also

Only You And I Can Help The Sun Rise Each Coming Morning. If We Don't, It May Drench Itself Out In Sorrow.

I'd Hear A Tune In My Head And The Words Would Come. And Then, Very Suddenly It Just Stopped. It Seemed Too Stilted To Try And Learn How To Write A Song, To Go To Round Robins And To Learn Things From Other People On How To Write A Song. So I Just Stopped And Did Other Things.

It Seems To Me That Those Songs That Have Been Any Good, I Have Nothing Much To Do With The Writing Of Them. The Words Have Just Crawled Down My Sleeve And Come Out On The Page.

To Sing Is To Praise God And The Daffodils, And To Praise God Is To Thank Him, In Every Note Within My Small Range, And Every Color In The Tones Of My Voice, With Every Look Into The Eyes Of My Audience, To Thank Him. Thank You, God, For Letting Me Be Born, For Giving Me Eyes To See The Daffodils Lean In The Wind, All My Brothers, All My Sisters, For Giving Me Ears To Hear Crying, Legs To Come Running, Hands To Smooth Damp Hair, A Voice To Laugh With And To Sing With...to Sing To You And The Daffodils.

The Longer You Practice Nonviolence And The Meditative Qualities Of It That You Will Need, The More Likely You Are To Do Something Intelligent In Any Situation.