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

We age not by holding on to youth, but by letting ourselves grow and embracing whatever youthful parts remain.

Music is a language that doesn’t speak in particular words. It speaks in emotions, and if it’s in the bones, it’s in the bones.

The electric guitar was vital in helping what I’ve achieved where would I be without it? Playing awfully quietly, for a start.

I look for ambiguity when I’m writing because life is ambiguous.

I don’t wave a flag for anything. I’m a musician.

I was in awe sometimes listening to Mick Taylor . Everything was there in his playing – the melodic touch, a beautiful sustain and a way of reading a song.

If you are going to get wasted, then get wasted elegantly.

I haven’t stopped smoking; anything.

I read the Bible sometimes, but it bores me to death. I just want to know what other people find so bloody fascinating.

I consider my job [being a musician] is to have a little idea and nurture it and put it in some form that everybody else can understand and then sort of pass it on. It’s really a passing through. In other words, you receive and you transmit.

Everybody thinks you reach a certain age and you’re a grownup, but it’s not true. Nobody grows up until the day they croak.

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

I achieved everything I wanted to achieve by being in the Rolling Stones and making records.

Love has sold more songs than you’ve had hot dinners.

Guitar is easy, all it takes is 5 fingers, 6 strings and 1 a**hole.

Preaching is tax free. Very little to do with God, a lot to do with money.

Nay, in death’s hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove’s.

Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.

Whetstones are not themselves able to cut, but make iron sharp and capable of cutting.

I’m half agony, half hope – like I’m a freshly cut bone, like the last stone that was held – then not thrown, like a garden where inspiration roots but never grows.

When you write me into your story, don’t set my end in stone. Feel free to let me go. I’d like to join your story, but remember I have my own.

I’m here because the reason I get up each morning, needs me as much as I need her.” -Jax Stone

Shame on those breasts of stone that cannot melt in soft adoption of another’s sorrow.

Stone, steel, dominions pass, Faith too, no wonder; So leave alone the grass That I am under.