“I’d rather make music than tour.”

I really like the thing I did with Martina McBride. I had that song sitting around for a long time.

When you’re in a relationship, you’re always surrounded by a ring of circumstances… joined together by a wedding ring, or in a boxing ring.

I’ve never been unhappy with Capitol. Not really. They’ve been really good by me.

They do respect her but, they love to watch her strut.

The years rolled slowly past and I found myself alone. Surrounded by strangers I thought were my friends, I found myself further and further from my home.

Every now and then you’ll nail one that’s really, really special. And that’s what you live for.

With only one thing in common, they got the fire down below.

I just start playing music and eventually I sing something, a line of a verse or a B section or a line of a chorus, and the line that I end up singing is related to the music I’m playing, if that makes any sense. And I go from there.

He wants his home and security, he wants to live like a sailor at sea.

One victim lives in tragedy, another victim stops to stare, and still another walks on by pretending not to see

And you pretend it doesn’t bother you, When you just want to explode.

The two hours onstage is great. But I can only play a show and then take a night off. I have to sing for two hours, and then I’ve gotta rest it for a night. So it’s the other 46 hours that are just boring as heck.

Sometimes you can hear them talk, other times you can’t. All the same old cliches, is that a woman or a man?

I’m older now but still running against the wind

You go to LA, or you go to New York, and it’s really fun to go there. But they’re not grounded. Everybody is just competing all the time for the limelight. It’s too much entertainment industry. There are too many choices. And it’s distracting to me.

Tell them we’ll be dancing, dancing ’til we drop, it’s time to get down and do the Horizontal Bop.

You’re immortal as long as you live.

The long term versus the short term argument is one used by losers.

Any happiness, no matter how brief, seemed better than the long, simmering torture of waking up day after day, knowing i could never have him.

It is hard to believe long together that anything is “worth while,” unless there is some eye to kindle in common with our own, some brief word uttered now and then to imply that what is infinitely precious to us is precious alike to another mind.

You can’t know your real mind as long as you deceive yourself.

As long as the marks are related to one another, there is unity. Unity in the work itself depends on unity of the artist’s vision.

The long night of human history is drawing at last to its conclusion.

Our movement is of the working people, for the working people, by the working people. . . .