When I heard the Beatles, I thought thats it. That's what I want to be. I want to be a Beatle.

I don't want you to play me a riff that's going to impress Joe Satriani; give me a riff that makes a kid want to go out and buy a guitar and learn to play.

Of all the things I've lost I miss my mind the most.

I got rabies shots for biting the head off a bat but that's OK - the bat had to get Ozzy shots.

Maybe it's not too late to learn how to love and forget how to hate.

Sometimes I'm scared of being Ozzy Osbourne. But it could have been worse. I could have been Sting.

If you can laugh at your mistakes, it's a good thing.

My son Jack just got out of rehab, he's 17 years old and he got hooked on Oxycontin and I'm just a little pissed off that he never gave me a few.

Hating people isn’t a productive way of living. So what’s the point in hating anyone? There’s enough hate in the world as it is, without me adding to it.

When you’re in love, it’s not just about the messing around in the sack, it’s about how empty you feel when they’re gone.

You've got to believe in yourself, or no one will believe in you. Imagination is like a bird on the wing, flying free for you to use.

I’ve always believed writing ads is the second most profitable form of writing. The first is ransom notes…

The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money.

It was another thing you didn't learn at a top-drawer school. Bickering is like baldness or lousy gifts. It runs in families.

How can you fly? I mean you have wings. Feathers. Did you know you have wings?

Never make an excuse for being yourself, no one's going to do it better.

I don't know how the poor farmers deal with such situations in real life. It's really sad.

Your life is yours and yours alone. Rise up and live it.

I had written a script called "Freed," which I had wanted to direct.

I want results when I fight.

the year she had run fleetly through the dewy grass under the moon- the night of wine, when dreams condensed out of thin air like the nightmilk of fantasy.