All of the best songs happen on a whim.
There are songs that I have to play!
'Wrecking Ball' is a great song.
Songs are life in 80 words or less.
I want a life that sizzles and pops and makes me laugh out loud. And I don't want to get to the end, or to tomorrow, even, and realize that my life is a collection of meetings and pop cans and errands and receipts and dirty dishes. I want to eat cold...
These were the kids who would take LSD for recreational purposes, who relied upon tape recorders to supply the weird studio effects their music required and who could repeat the cosmic wisdom of the Space Brothers as if it were the Pledge of Allegian...
Bill Foster: I've passed the point of no return. Do you know what that is, Beth? That's the point in a journey where it's longer to go back to the beginning. It's like when those astronauts got in trouble. I don't know, somebody messed up, and they h...
[after Shane enters the bar and orders asks for a soda pop, Chris tries to bully him] Chris Calloway: Well, what'll it be? Lemon, strawberry or lilac, sodbuster? Shane: You speakin' to me? Chris Calloway: I don't see nobody else standin' there. [thro...
Eddie Valiant: [after discovering the flattened Doom getting up and wobbling to his feet] Holy smoke, he's a Toon! Judge Doom: Surprised? Eddie Valiant: Not really. That lame-brained freeway idea could only be cooked up by a Toon. Judge Doom: Not jus...
I started writing songs at age 15.
To finish a song is the best feeling in the world.
Nothing in my songs is disrespective.
All of my songs are autobiographical.
I like songs that are simple.
Life is a song to me.
My songs are like my kids.
We became the songs we wrote.
A rhyme doesn't make a song.
Still must the poet as of old, In barren attic bleak and cold, Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to Such things as flowers and song and you; Still as of old his being give In Beauty's name, while she may live, Beauty that may not die as long As ther...
The leaving happened slowly, gradually, as these things do, and before we knew it, we were lost to each other, as if a magician had whisked a cloth off the table, leaving the dishes there, jolted. And when we looked back it was all a blur, time on fa...
Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty. And Harry felt, as he had felt about phoenix song before, that the music was inside him, not without: It was his own gri...
