“Everybody’s always looking for the person they’re better than”

But that’s a side effect of alcohol, isn’t it? Stopping to think about other people is not on the bar menu.

You know that saying about how you don’t know what you have until it’s gone-I already did know what I had, and now that she’s gone, I know even more.

I knew not to give the best of myself to the worst of people.

I’m sorry, but I don’t get it. If we’re supposed to ignore everything that’s wrong with our lives, then I can’t see how we’ll ever make things right.

Today I am in control because I want to be. I have my fingers on the switch, but have lived a lifetime ignoring the control I have over my own world. Today is different.

I’d rather feel something for real than pretend it’s not what it is.

Isn’t it funny how we live inside the lies we believe?

The simplest answer is to act.

Only you can allow yourself to be angry.

I didn’t think about anything past tomorrow because anything past tomorrow was just like cloud busting – it depended soley on the person looking at the clouds and it could rain any minute

But it feels good to love a thing and not expect anything back. It feels good to not get an argument or any pushiness or any rumors or any bullshit. It’s love without strings. It’s ideal.

I was also built from delusional optimism and folly.

I am equal to a baby and to a hundred-year-old lady. I am equal to an airline pilot and a car mechanic. I am equal to you. You are equal to me. It’s that universal. Except that it’s not.

The world is full of assholes. What are you doing to make sure you’re not one of them?

How can we say nobody’s perfect if there is no perfect to compare to? Perfection implies that there really is a right and wrong way to be. And what type of perfection is the best type? Moral perfection? Aesthetic? Physiological? Mental?

I place us where we are a happy couple who are madly in love, and we are kissing the way people kiss on their wedding day. With joy and relief and love. Without guilt. Without Shame.

We now have cultural machines so powerful that one singer can reach everybody in the world, and make all the other singers feel inferior because they’re not like him.

Everybody always thinks that. But in just about every album I’ve ever had has been about 50-50 songs I’ve written or co-written and other people’s songs.

I wish I were the type who could walk into a place and have everybody love me. But I’m not, and there’s no use wishing

Everybody was going on about it, so mom started hounding me more.

I would do something and let it sit for three months… just brood about and decide I needed to slightly change something here or there. Or one character wasn’t quite right. But I think everybody goes through this.

When I was a kid, my father used to tell me that everybody was celebrating my birthday. That’s what the trees are all about.

The great wisdom for writers, perhaps for everybody, is to come to understand to be at one with their own tempo.

Everybody gets what he deserves.