According to the Bells Up high, in towers or over shop doors, bells tell of salvation or tinkle bargain hunters into half-price sales on socks. They toll for the dead and jingle daydreaming pedestrians out of the way of cyclists. There are bells in hell, but mostly they just clang, like their cousins up here on hook and ladder trucks. Bells, which ring long after they’re hit, teach songs things need to learn to survive themselves. A bell is a magic cave for music. How strange, to hear such dulcet tones from throats and tongues tortured out of unwilling rock! Bells do have a soul, invisible, hiding like fire in oaks, in the dainty larch.
	—Joe Smith