“And she said ‘Losing love is like a window in your heart, Everybody sees you’re blown apart, Everybody feels the wind blow.’”

Was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. Not a negative word was heard.

Given all the facts that I’m young and I’m in good health and I’m famous – that I have talent, I have money – given all these facts, I want to know why I’m so unhappy.

I would be willing to do almost anything to make Art happy. I care about our friendship. The only thing I won’t do is change the essence of my work.

You know, life is what you make of it- so beautiful or so what.

After all those years of automatic success, you don’t get nervous any more. It’s really necessary to be nervous and be a little bit frightened. It pumps the adrenalin into you and you really get down there and try.

The abstract music is just more interesting because it doesn’t really have anything to say, but if it is good, it creates thoughts and feelings, and I enjoy that. For me, once the music creates those thoughts and feelings, I begin to write a song about it.

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

People ask how I feel about getting old. I tell them I have the same question. I’m learning as I go.

The course of a lifetime runs/over and over again.

People often called us perfectionists, but we were not looking for perfection. We were looking for some kind of magic in the music.

There are two sorts of people in the world: Those who listen and those who are thinking about what they are going to say next.

I’m laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone, Going home, where the new york city winters aren’t bleedin’ me.

Time it was And what a time it was, it was A time of innocence A time of confidences Long ago it must be I have a photograph Preserve your memories They’re all that’s left you.

There must be 50 ways to leave your lover.

All lies and jests, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.

I’ve got a reason to believe we all be received in Graceland, Graceland, Memphis Tennessee.

My mum raised me on ‘On the Waterfront,’ ‘Gone with the Wind’ and ‘Rear Window.’

If there is anything worse than the aching tedium of staring out of car windows.

Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write. If it’s good, you’ll find out. If it’s not, throw it out of the window.

If you go off the road, you’re into somebody’s shop-window or front porch.

In October, a maple tree before your window lights up your room like a great lamp. Even on cloudy days, its presence helps to dispel the gloom.

The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.

If we build more windows and fewer walls, we will have more friends.

Inside this hothouse, huge lascivious orchids slide sensuously up the sweating windows, passion-flowers cross-pollinate in wild heliotrope abandon, lotuses writhe with poppies in the sweet warm beds.