Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight, someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight.

The essential elements of singing are voice, musicianship, and story. It is the rare artist that has all three in abundance.

The thing you have to be prepared for is that other people don't always dream your dream.

The only reason to be with somebody is that they make you a better person and you make them a better person.

Everywhere you go, there's a soundtrack. You can't really quite hear it. It's just a little out of the range of hearing.

When the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby, it helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky.

Even though I know how very far apart we are, it helps to think we might be wishing underneath the same bright star.

Ninety-nine percent of singing is listening and hearing, and so then 1 percent of it is singing.

I think musicians are always supportive of each other because they want the groove to keep going on. They just basically want to play music.

I think there's mind in nature. There's a power in nature, and there's a universal power that you'd better not ignore.

Art is for healing ourselves, and everybody needs their own personal art to heal up their problems.

With your life, you are writing the history of the universe.

Don't think you are irreplaceable, or the world will end when you are gone

Didn't have Nintendo, we just poured salt on snails.

I would have been a terrible mother because I'm basically a very selfish human being. Not that that has stopped most people going off and having children.

Everything you could want - action, suspense, character and setting, all floating on the easy lyricism of a fine writer at the top of his game.

Be outrageous, ridicule the fraidy-cats, rejoice in all the oddities that freedom can produce.

You can choose between being a victim of destiny or an adventurer who is fighting for something important.

you are not too old and it is not too late to dive into your increasing depths where life calmly gives out it's own secret

Our grandfathers had to run, run, run. My generation's out of breath. We ain't running no more.

Affliction may one day smile again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow!.