“I can no longer trust in this loveIt has fallen like the saints aboveAll because of your sweet liesYou sang them like a lullaby"Phoenix”

“You sang me spanish lullaby's, the sweetest sadness in your eyes, clever trick”

“I don't really know them, but I know this: they're just like your kids were. Or are. Sweet, trusting, good in ways we adults hardly even remember. We have to look out for them. Not because of the tattoos, or in spite of them, but because they're kids and we're supposed to look out for kids.”

“A bitter reality of truth can be wisely told in a sweet tale of lullaby.”

“Thank you for a lullaby last night. Thank you for the boy who sang it.”

“She sang that night like - I cannot say like an angel, for her songs were all of champagne suppers and strolling in the Burlington Arcade; perhaps, then, like a fallen angel - or yet again like a falling one: she sang like a falling angel might sing with the bounds of heaven fresh burst behind him, and hell still distant and unguessed. And as she did so, I sang with her - not loudly and carelessly like the rest of the crowd, but softly, almost secretly, as if she might hear me the better if I whispered rather than bawled.”