“All our songs are about love, travel and death.”

Man, I’m sick of doubt.

When sex involves all the senses intensely, it can be like a mystical experience.

We cripple ourselves with lies.

I’ve always thought comparisons were useless and ugly. It is a short cut to thinking.

I want to feel what it’s like. I want to taste it, hear it, smell it. Death is only going to happen to you once; I don’t want to miss it

Los Angeles is a city looking for a ritual to join its fragments, and The Doors are looking for such a ritual also.

It may have been in pieces, but I gave you the best of me.

Jealousy we understood and thought natural–a desire to have what somebody else had; but envy was a strange, new feeling for us.

I’ve noticed that when people are joking they’re usually dead serious, and when they’re serious, they’re usually pretty funny.

What have they done to the earth? What have they done to our fair sister?

Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding/Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile eggshell mind.

This is the strangest life I’ve ever known.

The best songs just come unasked for. You don’t have to think about them. Summer is a good time for songs.

Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain.

There are things known and things unknown and in between are The Doors.

Some of the worst mistakes of my life have been haircuts.