“I like my music with the rinds and the seeds and pulp left in.”

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.”

She’s got the whole dark forest living inside of her.

I’m trying to get music ideas that come and keep them alive. It’s like carrying water in your hands. I want to keep it all, and sometimes by the time you get to the studio you have nothing.

The fact is most of the things that people know about me are made up. My own life is backstage. So what you “know” about me is only what I allowed you to know about me.

You can drive out nature with a pitch fork But it always comes roaring back again.

Don’t plant your bad days. They grow into weeks. The weeks grow into months. Before you know it, you got yourself a bad year. Take it from me – choke those little bad days. Choke ’em down to nothing.

The devil knows the Bible like the back of his hand.