The faint damp wind that, ere the even, blows
Piling the west with many a tawny sheaf,
Then when the last glad wavering hours are mown
Sigheth and dies because the day is sped;
This wind is like her and the listless air
Wherewith she goeth by beneath the trees,
The trees that mock her with their scarlet stain.
“A lot of people say that you have to do this before you do that, but that’s just nonsense. What you have to be able to do is know what it is you’re about, and then get there. That’s all you need to know. You only need the technique to do what you want to do; people tell you that you need that other stuff, but you don’t.”
Joe Giardullo