“If You’re going to sweep the floor, sweep it better than anybody in town. And if You’re going to play the guitar, really, really, really get in it, and don’t be jivin’.”

I realised a long time ago that instrumental music speaks a lot more clearly than English, Spanish, Yiddish, Swahili, any other language. Pure melody goes outside time.

I knuckle down with my demons, and with my weaknesses.

Live up to your convictions. You walk in grace or you walk in fear. You can’t have it both ways.

The Devil is like a strainer that separates the mud from the gold.

I would invite all Latin people to do nothing for about two weeks so you can see who really, really is running the economy I am here to give voice to the invisible.

Your mind is a magnet. You don’t attract what you need or what you want; you attract who you are. And I love who I am!

There is no person that love cannot heal; there is no soul that love cannot save.

First of all, the music that people call Latin or Spanish is really African. So Black people need to get the credit for that.

There is nothing more contagious on this planet than enthusiasm.

The best part of touring, still, is touching people’s hearts and igniting my band and igniting the people into what you call a spiritual revelation is sound and emotion.

Everything is a battlefield. If you fight with anger, you are part of the problem. If you fight with joy, you’re part of the solution.

Most people are prisoners, thinking only about the future or living in the past. They are not in the present, and the present is where everything begins.

Some songs are just like tattoos for your brain… you hear them and they’re affixed to you.

One day there will be no borders, no boundaries, no flags and no countries and the only passport will be the heart.

If you carry joy in your heart, you can heal any moment.

Your wrinkles either show that you’re nasty, cranky, and senile, or that you’re always smiling.

Life is like dancing. If we have a big floor, many people will dance. Some will get angry when the rhythm changes. But life is changing all the time.

Pushing out a breath, I lean against the wall and slide to the floor. I sit beside her for as long as it takes. Listening until her sobs fade and the shower turns on.

One person’s ceiling is another person’s floor.

Churches are good for prayer, but so are garages and cars and mountains and showers and dance floors.

I’m waiting for the floor to drop out from under me.

It is no achievement to walk a tightrope laid flat on the floor.

Everybody goes through shit, If everybody can throw all their problems on the floor next to you, you’ll pick yours back up & be grateful.

I’m still trying to fix up the wreckage you left behind, the chaotic strings of misery you let fall to the floor. Each piece delicately piercing my skin, the red glow a contrast to my continual white limbs.