Love Is Talkative Passion.

I See Trees Of Green, Red Roses Too. I See Them Bloom For Me And You. And I Think To Myself What A Wonderful World. I See Skies Of Blue And Clouds Of White. The Bright Blessed Day, The Dark Sacred Night. And I Think To Myself What A Wonderful World

The Memory Of Things Gone Is Important To A Jazz Musician. Things Like Old Folks Singing In The Moonlight In The Back Yard On A Hot Night Or Something Said Long Ago.

All Them Weird Chords Which Don't Mean A Thing...you Got No Melody To Remember, And No Beat To Dance To

Each Man Has His Own Music Bubbling Up Inside Him.

I'll Bet Right Now Most Of The Youngsters And Hot Club Fans Who Hear The Name Storyville Hasn't The Least Idea That It Consisted Of Some Of The Biggest Prostitutes In The World ... Standing In Their Doorways Nightly In Their Fine And Beautiful Negligees -- Faintly Calling To The Boys As They Passed Their Cribs.