When Whitney Houston died, I felt great sadness. My sadness, of course, was about our collective loss – when you listened to this nightingale sing, your body would drop into a chair, your head would tilt up, a small smile would creep across your face, and inside you knew that there was a higher power somewhere: gifted, beautiful, spiritual.

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When Whitney Houston died, I felt great sadness. My sadness, of course, was about our collective loss – when you listened to this nightingale sing, your body would drop into a chair, your head would tilt up, a small smile would creep across your face, and inside you knew that there was a higher power somewhere: gifted, beautiful, spiritual.