Through the years as the fire starts to mellow, burning lines in the book of our lives. Though the binding cracks and the pages start to yellow, I'll be in love with you.

As we hang beneath the heavens, and we hover over hell, our hearts become the instruments we learn to play so well.

I love home. I'll stay up there for days on end, I won't even go down the driveway to look for the mail.

I'm not the quiet sensitive little guy I was. I can't be. There's just too much after me.

It was quite a shot in the head to do the album and then have it shot down by nonmusical idiots

It seems like bluegrass people have more great stories to tell than other musicians

One road was simple acceptance of life, the other road offered sweet peace. When I made my decision, my vision became my release.