“The time I burned my guitar it was like a sacrifice. You sacrifice the things you love. I love my guitar.”

I wouldn’t say that I’m the greatest guitarist ever. I’d say probably that I’m the greatest guitarist sitting in this chair.

May I love you away from the evils of today to the dreams of tomorrow, you know heaven has no sorrow.

So you want to be married, oh baby, trying to put me on a chain, ain’t that some shame? You must be losing your weak little mind.

If I live by illusions, you live by excuses.

You’ve got to know much more than the mere technicalities of notes. You’ve got to know sounds and what goes between the notes.

I want to thank you my sweet darling for digging in the mud and picking me up.

I have to get involved in my own kind of way ’cause I always want to respect my own judgments. I have to respect my own time.

Be respected as being new, and probably a decent change or a help for the human race or whatever, instead of keep carrying the same old burdens around with you.

I’ve been imitated so well I’ve heard people copy my mistakes.

Genealogists live in the past lane.

We want our sound to go into the soul of the audience, and see if it can awaken some little thing in their minds. ‘Cause there are so many sleeping people.

Sometimes you want to give up the guitar, you’ll hate the guitar. But if you stick with it, you’re gonna be rewarded.

The story of love is hello and goodbye, until we meet again.

When I’m sad, she comes to me with a thousand smiles.

Don’t use your brain to play it, let your feelings guide your fingers.

I was thinking too fast. It seems like a person has the tendency to get bored, because he always wants to try to do all these accomplishments.

I fall headlong into everything that lights me on fire. I know not of restraint. I was born to burn.

Keep a little fire burning; however small, however hidden.

Love is a burning thing and it makes a firey ring.

At forty-five degrees, the sky will burn. Fire to approach the great new city; in an instant, a great scattered flame will leap up, when one will want to get evidence from the Normans.

She burned too bright for this world.

The fire and excitement may be gone now that we don’t go out there and sing them anymore, but the ring of fire still burns around you and I, keeping our love hotter than a pepper sprout.

I burned my own damn finger pokin’ someone else’s fire.

The blood of the just will be demanded of London, burnt by fire in the year ’66. The ancient Lady will fall from her high place, and many of the same sect will be killed.