“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you, Tomorrow I’ll miss you.”

It’s not unusual for writers to look backward. Because that’s your pool of resources. If you were to write something now, I bet there’s a pretty good chance you’d call on your teenage years, your experiences then, stuff you learned then.

By the time we made “Abbey Road”, John and I were openly critical of each other’s music, and I felt John wasn’t much interested in performing anything he hadn’t written himself.

When you’re wide awake say it for goodness sake, it’s gonna be a great day.

I think people who create and write, it actually does flow-just flows from into their head, into their hand, and they write it down. It’s simple.

For tomorrow may rain, so I’ll follow the sun.

What’s wrong with sentimental? Sentimental means you like stuff.

And when the night is cloudy There is still a light that shines on me Shine on until tomorrow, let it Be.

One may not eat what has a face.

My message is a peaceful one and I hope that the idea will spread.

If You can play Your stuff in a pub, then You´re a good band.

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

There are two things John and I always do when we’re going to sit down and write a song. First of all we sit down. Then we think about writing a song.

Love doesn’t come in a minute, sometimes it doesn’t come at all.

We can work it out. Life is very short, and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend.

I doubt very much if The Beatles would have happened if it was not for Elvis.

If slaughterhouses had glass walls, everyone would be a vegetarian.

I told the stars about you. I have reached the moon for you. Those two eyes of yours can swallow the deepest oceans. I asked the white clouds to fill us with colors. But soon I realized it was all you. Stars, moon, clouds, raindrops, universe. It was all in you.

You remind me of autumn because every time I think of you, I fall like a leaf.

Somedays, I miss you so much I can’t breathe. I cry and cry but it only makes my heart feel heavier. Tonight feels like one of those times. Your absence will be the death of me.

I have loved you and missed you all for so long. That even this feeling feels like home.

I miss you so much your absence causes me, at times, accute pain. I don’t mean sexually. I mean in connection with my writing.

Missing you evolves daily like our love once did before we moved on.

I find you in storms, I feel you in the lightning, I miss you in rain.

Her existence made me feel drunk even when I was sober.