I get up every morning and read the obituary column. If my name's not there, I eat breakfast.
Retirement at sixty-five is ridiculous. When I was sixty-five I still had pimples.
When I die I intend to take my music with me. I don't know what's out there, but I want to make sure it's in my key.
I don't care what you do for a living. If you love it, you are a success.
Young. Old. Just Words.
How can I die? I'm booked.