“A pity it is evening, yetI do love the water of this springseeing how clear it is, how clean;rays of sunset gleam on it,lighting up its ripples, making itone with those who travelthe roads; I turn and facethe moon; sing it a song, thenlisten to the sound of the windamongst the pines.”

“I sing, not to hear the echo repeat, a shade fainter, my song! I think of light and not of glory! Singing is my fashion of waging war and bearing witness. And if my song is the proudest of songs, it is that I sing clearly to make the day rise clear!”

“And I thought about how many people have loved those songs. And how many people got through a lot of bad times because of those songs. And how many people enjoyed good times with those songs. And how much those songs really mean. I think it would be great to have written one of those songs. I bet if I wrote one of them, I would be very proud. I hope the people who wrote those songs are happy. I hope they feel it's enough. I really do because they've made me happy. And I'm only one person.”

“How do you find the grace to facethe shadows?”

“I believed she'd gotten past ther hatred of me, turning to pity instead. But how could I make that into love?”

“That was the biggest fear. I'd rather clean up before I went on the road. It's bad enough cleaning up by yourself, but the idea of putting the whole tour on the line because I could'n make it was too much; even for me”