Music comes from an icicle as it melts, to live again as spring water.

I must return to my old comrades of the Great War - to the brown, the treeless, the flat and grave-set plain of Flanders - to the rolling, heat-miraged downlands of the Somme - for I am dead with them, and they live in me again.

Live music is the cure for what ails ya.

Yet otters have not been hunters in water long enough for the habit to become an instinct.

If salt ocean is the Great Mother from whom all life has sprung, fresh water is the Nurse entrusted to nourish life within her wanderings and around her wave-lapped margins.

Authors are ordinary people who usually start to live apart, in the imagination, because they don't fit in with normal, healthy people.