“One man’s ceiling is another man’s floor.”

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.

People talking without speaking, People listening without hearing, Sounds of Silence.

It’s very helpful to start with something that’s true. If you start with something that’s false, you’re always covering your tracks. Something simple and true, that has a lot of possibilities, is a nice way to begin.

When I was 12, I forgot the keys to my parent’s apartment. So I simply climbed up seven floors to get in.

As leaves cover the forest floor in a carpet of vibrant rusts, orange and gold, autumn proves that sometimes death too can be a beautiful thing.

The most relaxing thing i do, hang halfway out a 3rd floor window, and look at rocks if i fall out.

So she pulled the cord out of the wall, opened the second-floor window, and just threw it out the window.

Real sacrifice. Real disappointment. Real failure. And it requires the ability to scrape your sorry ass up off the floor, stumble to your feet.

I certainly love a boogie and once the music starts I’m usually one of the first out there on the dance floor.

I like Thelonious Monk, he’s so gnarled, he’s like a piece of machinery that’s pulled up the bolts on the floor and gone off on its own.

The universe lies before you on the floor, in the air, in the mysterious bodies of your dancers, in your mind.