They'd retreated to the country with two passports only. From the outside it looked like death. People could pound the walls all they wanted, but they'd never find the door. Nobody could guess at the gardens inside.

Lennon-kah yang datang selarut ini? Padahal cinta sudah ditembak mati, mungkin tadi, pagi-pagi sekali. Ono menangis: telah kusaksikan segala perih, kakak.

There is an alternative to war. It's staying in bed and growing your hair.

Wenner’s unabashed idol worship had so often embarrassed them—starfucker, they grumbled behind his back—but now here he was with an actual Beatle. And Yoko! Who could deny this? The hirsute supercouple were smaller than anybody imagined, but John Lennon still towered over Jann Wenner, who at five six so often found himself gazing up at his heroes like a boy vampire.

At that moment when John Lennon settled his voice on the back of a dove and released it to the world, could he have possibly imagined that all these years later, I would be here in my office imagining us imagining him?

Use your blood to paint. Keep painting until you faint. Keep painting until you die.