"Her name is Cherry, we've just met
But already she knows me better than you
She understands me after eighteen years
And you still don't see me like you ought to do
Maybe we could talk 'bout things
If you was made of wood and strings
While I love her every sound
I dunno how to turn you down
And you're so thick and my patience thin
So I got me a new best friend
With a pickup that puts you to shame
And Cherry is her name"
"Life consists of rare, isolated moments of the
greatest significance, and of innumerably many intervals, during which
at best the silhouettes of those moments hover about us. Love,
springtime, every beautiful melody, mountains, the moon, the sea – all
these speak completely to the heart but once, if in fact they ever do
get a chance to speak completely. For many men do not have those moments
at all, and are themselves intervals and intermissions in the symphony
of real life."