Applause, applause, life is our cause.
Love is touching souls.
I heard someone from the music business saying they are no longer looking for talent, they want people with a certain look and a willingness to cooperate.
At the point where I’m trying to force something and it’s not happening, and I’m getting frustrated with, say, writing a poem, I can go and pick up the brushes and start painting. At the point where the painting seems to not be going anywhere, I go and pick up the guitar.
There are things to confess that enrich the world, and things that need not be said.
I’m a fine artist working in a commercial arena, so that’s my cross to bear.
Fly silly sea bird, no dreams can possess you, no voices can blame you for sun on your wings.
No one likes to have less than they had before. That’s the nature of the human animal.
Happiness is the best facelift.
I learned a woman is never an old woman.
My heart is broken in the face of the stupidity of my species.
If you see yourself as a kingly type, then you need your serfs and your army and someone around you.
I love you when I forget about me.
I still believe in the power of the word, that words inspire.
Nobody understood The Reoccurring Dream, but after September 11, when we were coerced to do a national duty and go out and shop, surely people could begin to see what I was getting at.
So many things I would have done, but clouds got in my way.
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.
Augustine, Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath are confessional writers and all three make me sick. I have nothing in common with them.
The coming of the kids hasn’t come out in my art yet.
I couldn’t see passion as a bad thing.