Last night I danced with a stranger, but she just reminded me you were the one.

Ain't nothing too discreet about the disease of conceit.

Oh, time is short and the days are sweet and passion rules the arrow that flies.

Most songs have bridges in them, to distract listeners from the main verses of a song so they don't get bored. My songs don't have a lot of bridges because lyric poetry never had them.

The drunken politician leaps upon the street where mothers weep, and the saviors who are fast asleep, they wait for you.

I don't know if I call myself a poet or not. I would like to, but I'm not really qualified to make that decision, because I come in on such a back door, that I don't know what a Robert Frost or a [John] Keats or a T.S. Eliot would really think of my stuff.

There ought to be a law about you coming around.