And there are men behind bars who pray for the light and there are men in the suburbs who pray for the night.
I love the way the American trade magazines never give anybody a bad review because they’re afraid the advertising will be taken out. It’s so hysterical.
A couple of sounds that I really like are the sounds of a switchblade and a motor bike.
She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine.
Love’s like a junkie, addiction’s a fact. Passion’s a monkey, you can’t keep off your back.
I don’t think you can recreate anything from the past. You can not do it. If you’re going to go out and imitate a Motown sound, you can’t do it, it’s impossible because of the studios and players involved and the atmosphere.
Sweet freedom whispered in my ear, you’re a butterfly, and butterflies are free to fly, fly away, high-away, bye-bye.
To forgive and be forgiven, if it’s the last thing I do, then in death’s release I may find the peace that in life I never knew.
Lawdy Mama, those Friday nights when Suzy wore her dresses down tight.
Poor cow, you’ll get your dumb man. You’ll see your whole life coming at you in the back of his hand.
The ugliest woman you’ll ever meet, but she’s mine and she’s ugly.
I’m 57, I can’t look like a 30-year-old. You try to hold age at bay, but there comes a point when you just have to give up gracefully.
Drunk all the time, feeling fine on elderberry wine.
I cannot bear successful people who are miserable.
I’ve watched other people singing, I’ve become a much better singer. I’ve become a singer that plays the piano instead of a piano player that sings.
This overload is edging me further out to sea, I need to put some distances between overkill and me.
I get bombed for breakfast in the morning, I get bombed for dinner.
I get high in the evening sniffing pots of glue.
I’m not bored with my life. I’m not just making the records and touring, I would find that boring.
I’m a juvenile product of the working class, who’s best friend floats in the bottom of a glass.