Despite of all my Sunday learnin', toward the bad I kept turning.

There's two or three kids out there trying to make good music, and the rest of them sound like it's been strained through some kind of white toast or something. It all sounds just too neat and perfect, with no surprise to it at all. No story, no nothing. It's like building cars, like an assembly line. It doesn't sound like anything that came from a guitar.

I can't really say why everyone loves Bob Wills' music, but I have yet to meet a person who didn't like it.

My 10 year old son likes it. He's trying to play guitar and everything. He likes that kind of music.

There's a rumor that there may be an attempt at organizing a possible script for a series on my life, which, when you look at my police record, you'd have to have more than one hour to tell the story.

When you get to readin' about where the music and John Steinbeck and all those people like that come from, the further you go the more interesting it becomes.

If I had a choice, and there was a "Y" in the road, I would always take the one that was more fun as opposed to the one that might make me more money.