There's nothing romantic, nothing grand, nothing heroic, nothing brave, nothing like that about drinking. It's a real coward's death.

I'd like to go back to Paris someday and visit the Lourve museum, get a good running start, and hurl myself at the wall.

The primary one being, like I said, I don't like rock 'n' roll piano.

Excitable boy, they all said, he killed and raped her and brought her home.

I mean, I haven't been completely lacking in some enjoyment of Chuck Berry or Buddy Holly. But I just didn't pay attention to that period of music, obviously.

It's hard to find a girl with a heart of gold, when you're living in a four letter world.

Send lawyers, guns, and money. Dad, get me out of this.