The spectator is a dying animal.

Drugs are a bet with your mind.

We are content in the 'given' in sensation's quest. We have been metamorphosised from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark.

Actually I don't remember being born, it must have happened during one of my black outs.

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.

It's like gambling somehow. You go out for a night of drinking and you don't know where your going to end up the next day. It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It's like the throw of the dice.

The best songs come unasked for. You don't have to think about them . . . Summer is good for songs. When it's real warm, if you have a sense of freedom, not a lot on your mind, and a feeling there's plenty of time, it just seems to be a good climate for music.