My parents are artists and they decided they would prefer to paint in the Mediterranean rather than in Scotland.
I pluck with my fingernails. If I break a nail, I can't cancel a concert. So I can make a nail out of a ping-pong ball.
I don't try to make the guitar sound like the harpsichord or lute. That makes you end up being like a bad copy.
My father kind of had hopes that I was going to become an artist like him - the typical thing. Of course I could play guitar better than him when I was about 12. But I couldn't paint better than him. So I went, 'I'm going to be the guitarist of the house, not the painter.'
The present is a point just passed.
If you have a piece by Bach, he often develops the piece to such a high level that you can hardly do much more to it. But Saint-Luc wrote very simple baroque music, and so if you do not embellish it, it just falls apart. It's way too simple.
If the price is very cheap then it's almost certainly a fake.
Life to me is a journey - you never know what may be your next destination.
The hardest thing in life to learn is which bridge to cross and which to burn.
We live in a Newtonian world of Einsteinian physics ruled by Frankenstein logic.
Yes, a meaningful casual encounter can really enrich life. It is one of life's special punctuation marks. One should cherish these liaisons as much as any committed relationship they may counterpoint. If they are set against an austere, solitary canvas, their light shines ever brighter.
Still, isn't it nice to be nice, to hold a breath? Isn't it good to save up for it, and really relish it, just sometimes?
That brief encounter was one of my highest peaks of euphoria. It wiped off years of bitterness and misery, outdid the work of myriad arty films and steamy novels. I reply it endlessly-the replay fulfils and sustains me.
There was pure, ecstatic, fully-reciprocated lust, and that lust passion could be pure and beautiful-that she really wanted me, that I was the male body beautiful, her ultimate catch.
If it got any closer, I don't know if I could ever let you go. The most beautiful can be the most hazardous, the most vicious.
A sense of sin perfects all sensual contents