“You need eagles wings to get over things that make no sense in this world.”

It’s funny how the music industry is enraged about the Internet and the way things are copied without being paid for. But you know why people steal the music? Because they can’t afford the music.

I’ve got a room at the top of the world tonight. I can see everything tonight.

How about a cheer for all those bad girls! And all those boys that play that rock ‘n’ roll! They love it like you love Jesus.

She’s a good girl, crazy about Elvis, loves horses, and her boyfriend, too.

If you listen long enough you can hear my skin grow tough love is painful to the touch must be made of stronger stuff.

We could move catalog, if he’d only die quicker.

If I’d had to work at Taco Bell I’d have still been out at night trying to play music.

If you’re not getting older, you’re dead.

Some days are diamonds, some days are rocks. Some doors are opened, some roads are blocked. Sundowns are golden, then fade away. And if I never do nothing, I’ll get you back someday.

You belong somewhere you feel free.

I’m always having fun. Playing is fun. Music is fun.

I would never put my songs in a commercial.

We don’t really make bad records, though some people might like some more than others. And we have never really done a bad show. So I think in a way maybe we’ve been taken for granted.

When you get older, your health becomes important to you, things start breaking down, you’ve always got a different ache or pain.

I have turned down a lot of money for things that would have made me feel cheesy.

I’m barely prolific and incredibly lazy.

Broken wings are a sign of struggle and strength.

Don’t break a bird’s wings and then tell it to fly. Don’t break a heart and then tell it to love.

But humanity never gets beyond the caterpillar stage -it rots in the chrysalis, it never will have wings.It is anti-creation, like monkeys and baboons.

My soul has painted like the wings of butterflies, Fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends

Round and round we spin, with feet of lead and wings of tin.

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies, Fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.

Feet?? What do I need you for, When I have wings to fly.

The walls of my room turn gray, the world began to crumble, the flowers withered, the birds lost their wings, the paintings became colorless, the sunlight was lost and the moon was no more.