“I don’t know what I’m going to write when I begin to write. It feels like you are walking down a path, but you can’t see around the bend and you don’t know where you are going to go, which is fun.”

Lord, I am a surgeon and music is my knife. It cuts away my sorrow and purifies my life.

When I look back at all the crap I learned in high school, it’s a wonder I can think at all.

And I must be what I must be and face tomorrow.

Nor is it strange That after changes upon changes, we are more or less the same.

Maybe the heart is part of the mist. And that’s all that there is or could ever exist. Maybe and maybe and maybe some more. Maybe’s the exit that I’m looking for.

Music is forever; music should grow and mature with you, following you right on up until you die.

I suppose an artist takes the elements of his life and rearranges them and then has them perceived by others as though they were the elements of their lives.

Maybe I think too much for my own good.

The record company stay out of my way. Whenever the record is finished, they take it.

We’ve survived by believing our life is going to get better.

Somewhere in a burst of glory / Sound becomes a song.

I like them all. They’re all pictures of me when I wrote them. I have no favorite songs.

In the clearing stands the boxer, and a fighter by his trade. And he carries a reminder of every glove that laid him down, or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame “I am leaving! I am leaving” but the fighter still remains.

Sail on silver girl Sail on by Your time has come to shine All your dreams are on their way See how they shine Oh, if you need a friend I’m sailing right behind.

I have my books and my poetry to protect me.

I try to open up my heart as much as I can and keep a real keen eye out that I don’t get sentimental. I think we’re all afraid to reveal our hearts. It’s not at all in fashion.

I know love because I am in love. Because of how long I’ve loved. Because of the man I love.

I did not know that it was love until I knew.

Somehow, there is a sense of comfort in knowing nothing will ever hit me quite as hard again. Nothing will ever be as beautiful, but neither will anything hurt as much.

I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will.

But when I look at you, I just know instinctively, that despite the odds against you and although life will always find a way to test you, someday you’ll have everything you want. Your ending will be a happy one.

There are days when the melancholy settles on you like a sudden change in weather. The kind of sadness that is intangible. Like the presence of an ache where you can’t pinpoint exactly where it hurts, you just know it does.

I know you are scared. Who could blame you? Love is a hurricane wrapped inside a chrysalis. And you are a girl walking into the storm.

You know, I hear all these things about women’s rights.