Madman drummers, bummers, Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat. In the dumps with the mumps as the adolescent pumps his way into his hat.

I don't know many artists who are not crazy.

Every fool has a reason for feeling sorry for himself.

I got a house full of Rembrandts and priceless art, and all the little girls they wanna tear me apart.

Me and crazy Janey were making love in the dirt singing our birthday songs.

Because we lived in the presence of the church and the convent and the rectory and the school 24-7. And this was an enormous cornerstone in the lives of my entire family. They were all pretty serious Catholic churchgoers.

Your legs were heaven, your breasts were the alter, your body was the holy land.