What I do is unusual: chordal movements that have never been used before, changing keys and modalities mid-song.

They paved paradise and put up a parkin lot With a pink hotel, a boutique, and a swingin' hot spot Don't it always seem to go That you don't know what you got till it's gone

I find a lot of poetry to be narcissistic.

Because I'm so busy and because I think of myself as a painter, I desperately guard the time that I have to paint. And sometimes I'm irresponsible to my career in order to paint. Because painting is obsessive. I forget to eat. I forget to sleep.

They used to laugh at me when I refused to ride on all those double decker buses, all because there was no driver on the top.

He's swept with the broom of contempt and the rooms have an empty ring.

Something's lost, but something's gained, in living everyday.