I’m sure that when I die, I’m still going to say ‘I haven’t understood’. It’s the cliché: the more you understand, the more ignorant you know you are. I’m just really an enthusiast and I have an obsessive belief in what I’m doing because it’s important for me.
        But I’ve never had any feeling that this is going to mean anything for anyone else. It’s just the way of working out my salvation. People just do the best they can. And I don’t know any other way to do it. (from an interview in White Heat Magazine, 2010)

These shifting and confused gusts of memory never lasted for more than a few seconds; it often happened that, in my brief spell of uncertainty as to where I was, I did not distinguish the various suppositions of which it was composed any more than, when we watch a horse running, we isolate the successive positions of its body as they appear upon a bioscope.
        But I had seen first one and then another of the rooms in which I had slept during my life, and in the end I would revisit them all in the long course of my waking dream… (from In Search of Lost Time, by Marcel Proust, 1913)

I listened to a lot of live music and bought a heap of records. One of the most important was by a musician I’d never heard of — a trumpeter called Jon Hassell. It was called Vernal Equinox. This record fascinated me. It was a dreamy, strange, meditative music that was inflected by Indian, African and South American music, but also seemed located in the lineage of tonal minimalism.
        It was a music I felt I’d been waiting for. (Brian Eno on Jon Hassell, from The Guardian, 2007)