“I have a 6-year-old, and his thing is to turn on Radio Disney in the car, and I get such an allergic reaction to listening to that music and the context into which it falls. I’m really working on him about that.”

I suppose I should be happy to be misread; better be that than some of the other things I have become.

But I can’t confront the doubts I have. I can’t admit that maybe the past was bad, and so, for the sake of momentum I’m condemning the future to death so it can match the past.

All the perfect drugs and superheroes wouldn’t be enough to bring me back to zero.

It’s easier to describe that shame, that horrible feeling of not being able to control your own life.

For me, there’s a fine line between telling a story that’s fictional with lots of details and then removing yourself too much from it, so it’s bloodless, a little too fictional.

Clearly in this business you have to contend with a lot of that.

Nightly you retrace your steps again to return to the scene of the crime. It’s uncanny how you hover in the air of the wreckage that you left behind.

You know what, the drummer is my manager. He’s busy. And I’m busy. I don’t need the dough, though. But having said that, there’s a limit to how much bad music I wanna play.

In the ’70s, everybody thought drugs were just good times. People didn’t really know about drug addiction, or that such a thing existed.

I don’t envy anybody trying to start a career right. There really is no music business left, in a lot of ways.

No, the moth don’t care when he sees the flame The moth don’t care if the flame is real ‘Cause flame and moth got a sweetheart deal.

Life is a series of problems to figure out how to solve gracefully and with dignity. That is what life is and I can’t see it any other way.

It’s in the dictionary. And when I find what it is, I’ll write it down in case it comes up again, I’ll be certain to avoid it.

Telling what you feel, trying to talk about what’s important to you, does not make you weaker.

When things are really great, it just means everything’s in it’s place.

You drew a bird that was here, a kind of sweet chanticleer. But with a terrible fear that the cage couldn’t tame

I am physically allergic to flip-flops