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“Music is a fine thing, but metal lasts.” He struck the table with two huge fingers to emphasize his point....

As I left, I thought about what Kilvin had said. It was the first thing he had said to me that I did not agree with wholeheartedly. Metal rusts, I thought, music lasts forever.

Time will eventually prove one of us right.

But no. There is a difference between the truth and what we wish were true.

As Jules Renard said, no matter how much care an author takes to write as few books as possible, there will be people who haven’t heard of some of them.

My parents danced together, her head on his chest. Both had their eyes closed. They seemed so perfectly content. If you can find someone like that, someone who you can hold and close your eyes to the world with, then you’re lucky. Even if it only lasts for a minute or a day. The image of them gently swaying to the music is how I picture love in my mind even after all these years.

Remember this son, if you forget everything else. A poet is a musician who can’t sing. Words have to find a man’s mind before they can touch his heart. And, some men’s minds are woeful small targets. Music touches their hearts directly, no matter how small or stubborn the mind of the man who listens.

“Why do we stop for the greystones?”

“Tradition, my boy,” he said grandly, throwing his arms wide. “And superstition. They are one and the same, anyway.”

People who had, in the past, suffered from technophobia suffered even more. Others took other positions. Things were not so bad. Things could be worse. Worse things could be imagined. Worse things had been endured and triumphed over, in the past. This was not the worst. The worst was yet to come.

There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

He picked the rock back up. “Do you believe that it floated?”

“No!” I sulked, rubbing my temples.

“Good. It didn’t. Never fool yourself into perceiving things that don’t exist.”

Instant gratification is not as good as that gratification which comes dripping slow, over the sere seasons.

BILL: … We are what we have been told about ourselves. We are the sum of the messages we have received. The true messages. The false messages.

So this is the difference between telling a story and being in one, he thought numbly, the fear.