We start our lives with blues . . . with music. It's our first language. It's the rhythm of the womb. It's your mama's heartbeat inside your head.

And here's to the blues, the real blues— where there's a hint of hope in every cry of desperation.

The music echoes in the emptiness. It reminds us where we came from and where we’re bound.

You got infinite channels and limitless rhymes, but the riddles of livin' stay undefined?

The music plays . . . and your sense of reality is heightened to a dream.

Your muse ain't singin' on your MTV? Can't even see him on your HD TV?

Philosophy may be blind without science, but science can lack vision without philosophy.

I was on the point of breaking off the conversation, for nothing puts me so completely out of patience as the utterance of a wretched commonplace when I am talking from my inmost heart.

Why doesn’t anyone go to the moon anymore? What happened to our optimism?

Constitutional provisions are not barriers to government misconduct. At best, they can be speed bumps.

Everything looks nonsensical before it works.

One more thing: don’t feel bad for not telling me that you loved me. You didn’t need to say it. I knew all along that you did.

Why there aren't people out there willing to have fun playing rock 'n' roll. I just don't get it.

The writing of a poem is, for me, in the first place, an almost total act of abandon leading to discovery leading to recognition.

There's harmony and inner peace to be found in following a moral compass that points in the same direction regardless of fashion or trend.

He fouled out in the fourth quarter, and that's when I really started getting points. He was no more at fault than anyone.