All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.

“All I know about music is that not many people ever really hear it. And even th…”

“Everybody's journey is individual. If you fall in love with a boy, you fall in …”

“I kissed her salty tears and murmured, murmured I don’t know what. I felt her b…”

“She marched into the street, found a liquor store and bought a bottle; and the …”