…I started out to become a jazz pianist; in the meantime I started singing and I sang the way I felt and that’s just the way it came out.
Nat King ColeAbout author
- Author's profession: Musician
- Nationality: american
- Born: March 17, 1919
- Died: February 15, 1965
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Though I do not believe in the order of things, still the sticky little leaves that come out in the spring are dear to me, the blue sky is dear to me, some people are dear to me, whom one loves sometimes, would you believe it, without even knowing why; some human deeds are dear to me, which one has perhaps long ceased believing in, but still honors with one's heart, out of old habit..."--Ivan Karamazov
Fyodor Dostoevsky
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain. I love you still among these cold things. Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vesselsthat cross the sea towards no arrival. I see myself forgotten like those old anchors. The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there. My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. I love what I do not have. You are so far. My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights. But night comes and starts to sing to me.
Pablo Neruda