I've never thought of myself as a religious person.

Even without the mushroom cloud still I would have hated Listen I would have done the same things even if there were no death I will not be held like a drunkard under the cold tap of facts I refuse the universal alibi

I always loved those little creatures [hummingbird], always feel blessed when they appear nearby. There's a magical quality to them. I finally put one in a song.

What a beautiful testament to the creative spirit and its true motives, to creative contribution coming from a place of purpose rather than a hunger for profit.

Garages, barns and attics are always older than the buildings to which they are attached.

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.

It just takes a long time for me [to write a song]. I'm very slow. And it comes, kind of, by dribbles and drops.