For every moment of joy Every hour of fear For every winding road that brought me here For every breath, for every day of living This is my Thanksgiving

My creative life is a constant struggle to achieve a balance between letting things flow in and letting things flow out.

Don't look back, you can never look back

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.

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.

What are these voices outside love's open door, make us throw off our contentment, and beg for something more?

I don't care what anybody says about Ringo. I cut my rock-n-roll teeth listening to him.