“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you, Tomorrow I’ll miss you.”

But with writers, there’s nothing wrong with melancholy. It’s an important color in writing.

But you know, as a kid I would have thought of a vegetarian as a wimp.

I am alive and well and unconcerned about the rumors of my death. But if I were dead, I would be the last to know.

I think the minute you’re full up and have had enough to eat, then that’s time to retire.

Lyricists play with words.

When we were kids growing up in Liverpool, all we ever wanted to be was Elvis Presley.

I feel like the sixties is about to happen. It feels like a period in the future to me, rather than a period in the past.

I definitely did look up to John. We all looked up to John. He was older and he was very much the leader; he was the quickest wit and the smartest.

If I were dead, I would be the last to know.

I just always enjoy it; if you really enjoy what you do, you don’t want to stop.

I took my brains out and stretched them on the rack, now I’m not too sure I’m gonna get them back.

I’m still looking to write a great song. You always are. You know, you never think, ‘Well, that’s enough that’s good enough.’

Buy, buy, says the sign in the shop window; Why, why, says the junk in the yard.

I had this song called Helter Skelter, which is just a ridiculous song. So we did it like that, ‘cuz I like noise.

To this day, if I ever meet grownups who play ukulele, I love ’em.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?

The turmoil of her past is blazing my breath.

I have been to places and left my heart in few. None of them felt real, none of them felt like you.

The clock ticks by and all I could think of is that at least I’m a day closer to seeing you.

And I’ll miss you, without saying a word.

I want to talk with you about the love revolution and how the clouds above us turn pink every time I kiss you. I know where in my lucid dreams there is a door behind which there are all the abandoned dreams you can dream forever.

You were my sunshine on all my rainy days.

I still find myself searching the crowds for your face.

I want to fold you into my book, like a petal, so that you’d never leave.