Ragtime was my lullaby.
This exploded in me almost more music than I could consume.
Never play anything that don’t sound right. You might not make any money, but at least you won’t get hostile with yourself.
I’m singing the music publisher’s theme song – it ain’t a commercial.
I don’t think I’ll ever be president of anything.
I know Mother named me after a railroad man, but it’s too late now, I’m afraid. Much, much too late.
In Hollywood, the rainbow hits the ground for composers.
The recollection of how, when and where it all happened became vague as the lingering strains hung in the rafters of the studio. I wanted to shout back at it, Maybe I didn’t write you, but I found you.