“The smiling portrait of you is still hanging on my frowning wall.”

Music is a safe kind of high.

They’ve imitated me so good that sometimes I hear people copying my mistakes

I used to live in a room full of mirrors; all I could see was me. I take my spirit and I crash my mirrors, now the whole world is here for me to see.

Music makes me high on stage, and that’s the truth. It’s like being almost addicted to music.

If I’m free, it’s because I’m always running.

Knowledge talks, wisdom listens.

Music is my religion.

Don’t waste your time thinkin’ about bad things.

When I die, I want people to play my music, go wild and freak out and do anything they want to do.

Drifting, On a sea of forgotten teardrops, On a lifeboat, Sailing for Your love

Don’t let your imagination take you by surprise.

Anybody can do anything, it’s up to themselves. All it takes is the right intentions.

Now if I don’t meet you no more in this world, then I’ll, I’ll meet you in the next one, and don’t be late, don’t be late, cause I’m a voodoo chile.

I think that we honor ourselves by honoring our past.

The artist draws the people. The whole idea is for people to dig themselves, just mingle around meeting different other people. That’s cool.

When things get too heavy, just call me helium, the lightest known gas to man.

There is nothing that special to see when looking at me. I’m a painter who paints day in day out, from morning till evening – figure pictures and landscapes, more rarely portraits.

I have always noticed that in portraits of really great writers the mouth is always firmly closed.

Every record is a portrait of the band at that time.

God sends experience to paint men’s portraits.

I love prints of skulls and bones and have some taxidermy – a crow and a rabbit – to remind me of home. I like art and have a big portrait of Bjork.

What pen can describe this scene of marvellous horror; what pencil can portray it?

Love me until oblivion paints your portraits on my eyelids, sinking by eons into distance that never separates us.

Every desire is a self-portrait of the person who pursues it.