[Answering the phone] Hello, this is a recording, you've dialed the right number, now hang up and don't do it again.

I don't know what other singers feel when they articulate lyrics, but being an 18-karat manic-depressive and having lived a life of violent emotional contradictions, I have an overacute capacity for sadness as well as elation.

Here's to the confusion of our enemies!

You are the promised kiss of springtime that makes the lonely winter seem long. You are the breathless hush of evening that trembles on the brink of a lovely song.

The only male singer who I've seen besides myself and who's better than me--that is Michael Jackson.

I want to be buried with a Zippo, a roll of dimes & a bottle of Jack!

It took me a long, long time to learn what I now know, and I don't want that to die with me.