The leaves that are green turn to brown. And they wither with the wind. And they crumble in your hand.

I question what emotion Manilow touches. People are entertained by him. But are they emotionally moved? I don't believe anything that Barry Manilow sings.

I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died. If I never loved I never would have cried...I am a rock.

Don't want to end up a cartoon in a cartoon grave yard.

I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told, and I have squandered my resistance, for a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises. All lies in jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest...la-la-la-la-la-la-la-lala-la-la-la-la...

I met my old lover on the street last night, she seemed glad to see me.

I don't really like to write at a desk. I like to write when driving in a car. ... Once you're working on it, you're working on it all the time, and sometimes stuff'll come in the middle of the night, in a dream or something. Your mind is working on it all the time.