“Poison’s not bad. It’s a matter of how much.”

I looked upon myself, in a sort of romantic and silly way, as like a laboratory.

It’s an addiction and addiction is something I should know something about.

You’ve got the sun, you’ve got the moon, and you’ve got the Rolling Stones.

If you say I’m great, thank you very much. But I know what I am. I could be better, man, you know?

Yes, I’ve been trepanned. That’s quite an interesting experience, especially for my brain surgeon, who saw my thoughts flying around in my brain.

You know, the BBC had not been particularly generous in its deliverance of blues and esoteric kinds of music.

Some people think I’m a mythical genius, others think I’m a junkie madman.

The idea of retiring is like killing yourself. It’s almost like Hari Kari. I intend to live to a 100 and go down in history.

I don’t encourage anybody to do what I do, you know? Why should you? More for me!

You get onstage and make other people feel happy. Make them feel good.

I’ve never had a problem with drugs. I’ve had problems with the police.

You can’t accuse me of anything I haven’t already confessed to.

Anything you throw yourself into, you better get yourself out of.

Whatever side I take, I know well that I will be blamed.

It’s great to be here. It’s great to be anywhere.

Songwriting’s a weird game.

My standard answer is that I have the same struggle as any working parent but with the good fortune to be working at my dream job. Or sometimes I just hand them a juicy red apple I’ve poisoned in my working-mother witch cauldron and fly away.

The social damage was not in the failure but in the undertaking, which was expensive. The cost of war was the poison running through the 14th century.

Oh, mercy. If it catches you in the wrong frame of mind, the King James Bible can make you want to drink poison in no uncertain terms.

Success is a poison that should only be taken late in life and then only in small doses.

Take the tale in your teeth, then, and bite till the blood runs, hoping it’s not poison.

The ignorant mind, with its infinite afflictions, passions, and evils, is rooted in the three poisons. Greed, anger, and delusion.

Alas! they had been friends in youth; but whispering tongues can poison truth.

Because in some men it is in them to give up everything personal at some time, before it ferments and poisons–throw it to some human being or some human idea. They have to.