My love, growing up on the Prairies, was country music.

Generally, you are held to a sound and that becomes your sound. That gets branded as your sound, and all the copycats start with it because the labels are looking for that sound.

The local music community here was dying for a place to record, so we started doing acoustic, folk and bluegrass and then did rock projects for other bands, as well as for my son Tal and my own work.

You take all the things that frighten you, and when you can get them to work for you all of sudden people are calling you a success.

Those two songs condense the two albums. They also show what the audiences wanted. I was desperate to keep the band together and find something that the public would like.

My songs are like cheap Neil Young copies.

We like the imperfect because it reminds us of ourselves.

I don't think that bands that make it on their first album are as strong as bands that don't: there is nowhere to go but down.

The fact that the internet is so active; people can now speak to me indirectly.

With The Guess Who, it took us fifty-something singles before we had hits.

When I was five I had violin lessons.

You can waste a perfectly good life trying to meet the standards of someone who thinks you’re not good enough because they can’t understand who you are.

I know supposedly God has anger, vengeance, and wrath, and if he doesn’t have a sense of humor I’m in big trouble!

And suddenly I realised that I was no longer driving the car consciously. I was driving it by a kind of instinct, only I was in a different dimension.

Blessed books—they’re a place to be alone, and no one else can come in.

I think prices have been moving more on speculation than reality. But this is a market that has been driven by fear for two or three years.

He whom God loveth, He beateth the hell out of.

It's very important that the music has a sense of adventure to it, and that it's done by the seat of your pants. There's a kind of nervy element about it.

Fear is the strong passion; it is with fear that you must trifle, if you wish to taste the intensest joys of living.

There is no amount of bad news that the markets cannot see past.

The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled; And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!