Life is like a piano. White keys are happy moments and the black ones are sad moments. Both keys are played together to give us the sweet music called Life.

Life is like a piano; white keys represent happiness, black keys represent sadness. But remember that on the journey of life, black keys also make up music.

Do not limit yourself between black and white, there are thousands of colours in between of them, same process for the yes and no answers, or able and not able.

A spider lives inside my head
Who weaves a strange and wondrous web
Of silken threads and silver strings
To catch all sorts of flying things,
Like crumbs of thoughts and bits of smiles
And specks of dried-up tears,
And dust of dreams that catch and cling
For years and years and years...

Some people are worried about the difference between right and wrong. I'm worried about the difference between wrong and fun.

Right and wrong were shades of meaning, not sides of a coin.

He knew that the very memory of the piano falsified still further the perspective in which he saw the elements of music, that the field open to the musician is not a miserable stave of seven notes, but an immeasurable keyboard (still almost entirely unknown) on which, here and there only, separated by the thick darkness of its unexplored tracts, some few among the millions of keys of tenderness, of passion, of courage, of serenity, which compose it, each one differing from all the rest as one universe differs from another, have been discovered by a few great artists who do us the service, when they awaken in us the emotion corresponding to the theme they have discovered, of showing us what richness, what variety lies hidden, unknown to us, in that vast, unfathomed and forbidding night of our soul which we take to be an impenetrable void.

Piano keys are flower-petals turned hard.

Music is the space between the notes.

There is but one question ultimately to be asked respecting every line you draw, Is it right or wrong? If right, it most assuredly is not a "free" line, but an intensely continent, restrained and considered line; and the action of the hand in laying it is just as decisive, and just as "free" as the hand of a first-rate surgeon in a critical incision.

The mind of man may be compared to a musical instrument with a certain range of notes, beyond which in both directions we have an infinitude of silence.

The sense of wrong is simply failure to see where something fits into a pattern[.]

Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there
In small bright specks upon the visible side
Of our strange being’s party-coloured web.

I see City as a Spider that moves with us on the web... Spider is one of the oldest symbols between life and death as a "continuous sacrifice", as Schneider well noted. Its threads symbolize the duality of our world, in which Spider is a demiurge that connects the eternal and the finite. In the Upanishads, web thread symbolizes the sacred sound Om. In one of Akutagawa's stories, Buddha throws a thread into Hell to a criminal who didn't kill a Spider. Spider is both a God and Executioner, and this makes it similar to City.