“Slept all night in the cedar grove, I was born to ramble, born to rove, some men are searchin’ for the holy grail, but there ain’t nothin’ sweeter than ridin’ the rails.”

You got to tell me the brave captain Why are the wicked so strong? How do the angels get to sleep When the devil leaves the porch light on?

I’ve lost my equilibrium, my car keys, and my pride.

I’ve seen it all through the yellow windows of the evening train.

You’re my North Star when I’m lost and feeling blue.

I don’t like the stigma that comes with being called a poet. So I call what I’m doing an improvisational adventure or an inebriational travelogue.

Break windows, smoke cigars, and stay up late. Tell ’em to do that, they’ll find a little pot of gold.

Sing me a rainbow. Steal me a dream.

I don’t go to church on Sunday, don’t get on my knees to pray, or memorize the books of the Bible, I got my own special way

On my gravestone, I want it to say, “I told you I was sick.”

The big print giveth and the small print taketh away.

I was always laughing in church.

I’ll take a rusty nail and scratch your initials on my arm.

Don’t plant your days they turn into weeds.

When you’re writing‚ you’re conjuring. It’s a ritual‚ and you need to be brave and respectful and sometimes get out of the way of whatever it is that you’re inviting into the room.

A mental midget with the IQ of a fence post.

I do some acting. And there’s a difference between “I do some acting” and “I’m an actor.”

When old people speak it is not because of the sweetness of words in our mouths; it is because we see something which you do not see.

Our most treasured family heirloom are our sweet family memories.

The roar of the crowd has always been the sweetest music. It’s intoxicating.

I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

All that’s bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books.

Your bitter memories still have time to turn into sweet ones.

Listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul.