It is always a strain when people are being killed. I don&#39;t think anybody has held this job who hasn&#39;t felt personally responsible for those being killed.

Without a soundtrack, human interaction is meaningless.

Lords of spirit, Lords of breath, Lords of fireflies, stars, and light, Who will keep the world from death? Who will stop the coming night? Blue eyes, blue eyes, have the sight.

They reminded him of something—what was it?—some memory, some picture. He strove to find it and then it came of itself.  It rose out of the years complete with all its colours and its cries, its crowded feelings.

Written By John Steinbeck

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