The recollection of how, when and where it all happened became vague as the lingering strains hung in the rafters of the studio. I wanted to shout back at it, Maybe I didn't write you, but I found you.
I don't believe there is any character that one can play for that long and not bring a piece of you to it.
Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counsellors, and the most patient of teachers.