There Is No Art Without Intention.

Roaming Through The Jungle Of "ohs" And "ahs", Searching For A More Agreeable Noise, I Live A Life Of Primitivity With The Mind Of A Child And An Unquenchable Thirst For Sharps And Flats.

Music Is My Mistress And She Plays Second Fiddle To No One.

Jazz Today, As Always In The Past, Is A Matter Of Thoughtful Creation, Not Mere Unaided Instinct.

Now I Can Say Loudly And Openly What I Have Been Saying To Myself On My Knees.

In Music, As You Develop A Theme Or Musical Idea, There Are Many Points At Which Directions Must Be Decided, And At Any Time I Was In The Throes Of Debate With Myself, Harmonically Or Melodically, I Would Turn To Billy Strayhorn. We Would Talk, And Then The Whole World Would Come Into Focus. The Steady Hand Of His Good Judgment Pointed To The Clear Way That Was Fitting For Us. He Was Not, As He Was Often Referred To By Many, My Alter Ego. Billy Strayhorn Was My Right Arm, My Left Arm, All The Eyes In The Back Of My Head, My Brainwaves In His Head, And His In Mine.