We Used To Play Music

They Ended Every Speech With The Word Hiro, Which Means: Like I Said. Thus Each Man Took Responsibility For Intruding Into The Inarticulate Murmur Of The Spheres. To Hiro They Added The Word Koue, A Cry Of Joy Or Distress, According To Whether It Was Sung Or Howled. Thus They Essayed To Piece The Mysterious Curtain Which Hangs Between All Talking Men: At The End Of Every Utterance A Man Stepped Back, So To Speak, And Attempted To Interpret His Words To The Listener, Attempted To Subvert The Beguiling Intellect With The Noise Of True Emotion.

I Want History To Jump On Canada's Spine With Sharp Skates.

I Feel That, You Know, The Enormous Luck I've Had In Being Able To Make A Living, And To Never Have Had To Have Written One Word That I Didn't Want To Write, To Be Able To Have Satisfied That Dictum I Set For Myself, Which Was Not To Work For Pay, But To Be Paid For My Work - Just To Be Able To Satisfy Those Standards That I Set For Myself Has Been An Enormous Privilege.

Some Say That No One Ever Leaves Montreal, For That City, Like Canada Itself, Is Designed To Preserve The Past, A Past That Happened Somewhere Else.

If I Knew Where The Good Songs Came From, I’d Go There More Often. It’s A Mysterious Condition. It’s Much Like The Life Of A Catholic Nun. You’re Married To A Mystery.