He loved her, free parts and labor. But she broke down and died.

I think poetry is best read to oneself.

Singing other people's material was perceived, I think, as a weakness of my persona. The effect, though, was to make me dig my heels in and try even harder to combine the two.

Love will wash you clean in the nights disgrace.

My worst job was working in the laundry of a nursing home.

I didn't have any great job prospects.

I'm respected, I'm still working, what more could I ask?