I can almost feel the wind beneath my wings; I can almost taste the thrill of flying away from this small town and never looking back.

It's as if Mom was expressing herself in a language other than English; a language that Grandma wouldn't be able to interpret simply by looking at the music notes.

There's no better way to get to know a person than through their art.

Maybe she knew some day it would become my job. My job to complete the melody she had begun.

I'm just as big a fool as the rest of them.

I wondered if this was how it felt to sell your soul to the devil. I bet there were awesome cookies in hell, too.