It's not a house, it's a home.

Let me drink from the waters where the mountain streams flood Let the smell of wildflowers flow free through my blood Let me sleep in your meadows with the green grassy leaves Let me walk down the highway with my brother in peace Let me die in my footsteps Before I go down under the ground.

If ever asked to look at yourself, don't.

If you don't believe there's a price for this sweet paradise, just remind me to show you the scars.

We're constantly being bombarded by insulting and humiliating music, which people are making for you the way they make those Wonder Bread products. Just as food can be bad for your system, music can be bad for your spiritual and emotional feelings. It might taste good or clever, but in the long run, it's not going to do anything for you.

I am hanging in the balance of a perfect finished plan, like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.

It frightens me, the awful truth, of how sweet life can be.