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Quote by Amish Darr, HXS Arthouse Director

“These are shows designed for the underground artists, painters, philosophers, thinkers, musicians, visual artists, poets, set designers––it’s a creative community that’s coming together to change the world.”

Quote by Amish Darr, HXS Arthouse Director

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Amish Darr, HXS Arthouse Director

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“I don’t play music. In fact, I don’t play music so well that I’m The Mozart of Silence. You should witness how my ducks enjoy water dancing to my soundlessness.”

“Rocketing fears for Grandfather aside, the whole music puzzle starts to make sense. “It’s more than a flash mob,” I insist. “Ask Professor Walker, this is Grandfather’s exit song. It’s like his portal of departure.” But Mom’s not listening. She’s preoccupied, apparently puzzled by Dad’s astonishment. Why isn’t anyone listening to me?”

“It’s funny,” John says, “how piano keys are black and white, yet they play a thousand different colors.” “‘Cept there ain’t no piyana,” Captain Clark shushes. John’s face goes blank. “Really? I thought I heard one.” Captain Clark looks at me, almost apologetically. “He’s got Van Gogh’s ear fer music.”

“This Ravel guy . . . it’s nice knowing there are composers out there who can put notes together that match the way I feel. If he wrote this after a stroke, then there’s hope for all us broken people. This must be an anthem for rejects. Music like this reminds us we’re not alone, that we can come out on the right side of heartbreak. Maybe that’s why more and more people are gathering around. I bet they’re broken too.”

“No matter how much time passes, some memories stay alive not loudly, but quietly, hidden between our smiles and our tears. They visit in silence, in the middle of the night, when the world is asleep but the heart is awake. I know our memories will never truly leave me; they will walk with me through every phase of life, not as pain anymore, but as a reminder of what love once felt like, and of what will never return the same way again. Some connections end, but the feelings they create… they stay, living softly inside us forever.”

“The mirthroot wrapped soft, sweet arms around his mind and dragged him into its shimmering pool. Ruhn let himself drown in it, too mellow to do anything but let the music wash over him, his body sinking into the mattress, until he was falling through shadows and starlight. The strings of the song hovered overhead, golden threads that glittered with sound. Was he still moving his body? His eyelids were too heavy to lift to check.”