“Shut up before I drop yo ass off at Koreatown. Now hold on, America, don’t start writing no letters. I’m just kidding. But am I lying?”

We’re only human, we’re supposed to make mistakes.

I’ve tried to avoid that all my life. When I wrote about soldiers in Vietnam, I wasn’t trying to make a political statement. I was trying to write about how screwed things were for soldiers, and how they still are.

Most people are satisfied with the junk food being sold as music.

I took a fresh pack of Luckies, a mint called Sen-Sen, my old man’s Trojans.

Sergeant O’Leary is walking the beat, at night he becomes a bar tender.

I have been both praised and criticized. The criticism stung, but the praise sometimes bothered me even more. To have received such praise and honors has always been puzzling to me.

It took me years to write it, they were the best years of my life It was a beautiful song but it ran too long If you’re gonna have a hit you gotta make it fit So they cut it down to 3:05.

You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes, but they’re the only things that you can truly call your own.

Loneliness will get to you somehow But ev’rybody loves you now.

I really wish I was less of a thinking man and more of a fool not afraid of rejection.

I’m single but interviewing.

Most people you’d tell “I’m gonna be a musician,” they’d say, “you’re crazy, you’re gonna starve, you’re gonna be poor, a drug addict, go to jail, you’ll never make it, there’s too much competition.

Some love is just a lie of the heart, the cold remains of what began with a passionate heart.

Davey Crocket, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland.

Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes; I’m afraid it’s time for goodbye again

You can pay Uncle Sam with all your overtime, is that all you get for your money?