There are no facts, there is no truth, just data to be manipulated.

Sometimes songwriters and singers forget that. They get a melody in their head and the notes will take precedence, so that they wind up forcing a word onto a melody. It doesn't ring true.

For you girl, there is not enough love in the world.

I said, baby, do you have no shame? She just looked at me, uncomprehendingly, like cows at a passing train.

Playing the drums hurts my back.

We're being treated to the wisdom of some puffed up, little fart. Doing exactly what I used to do, pretensions to anarchy and art.

I now derive physical and spiritual pleasure from gardening and there is tremendous satisfaction in knowing that I could survive almost anywhere if I had to.