“ for Pop, who sees the starsand Jude, who hears their music ”
Love cannot be reduced to a catalogue of reasons why, and a catalogue of reasons cannot be put together into love.
~ Eleanor Catton
The saxophone is the cocaine of the woodwind family, the sax teacher continues. Saxophonists are admired because they are dangerous, because they have explored a darker, more sinister side of themselves.
The saxophone does not speak that language. The saxophone speaks the language of the underground, the jaded melancholy of the half-light—grimy and sexy and sweaty and hard. It is the language of orphans and bastards and whores.
Tonight shall be the very beginning.''Was it?''It shall be. For me.''My beginning was the albatrosses.''That is a good beginning, I am glad it is yours. Tonight shall be mine.''Ought we to have different ones?''Different beginnings? I think we must.''Will there be more of them?''A great many more. Are your eyes closed?''Yes. Are yours?''Yes. Though it's so dark it hardly makes a difference.''I feel—more than myself.''I feel—as though a new chamber of my heart has opened.''Listen.''What is it?''The rain.
