How can love survive in such a graceless age? The trust and self assurance that lead to happiness, they're the very things we kill.

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.

It was a pretty good year for predators.

I have a bad back partially from playing the drums and singing. I used to have to hold my body in such a position that my spine got out of alignment.

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?

The more I know, the less I understand