And I kissed away a thousand tears My lady of the Various Sorrows Some begged, some borrowed, some stolen Some kept safe for tomorrow.
Hamlet got a gun now.
I think it’s an essential fact for any performer or artist to fail as poignantly as they can succeed.
It’s a wonderful life if you can find it.
To sustain hatred is a very difficult thing to do, year after year. It’s exhausting.
Said 2,000 years of Christian history, baby And you ain’t learned to love me yet?
The writer who refuses to explore the darker regions of the heart will never be able to write convincingly about the wonder, the magic and the joy of love for just as goodness cannot be trusted unless it has breathed the same air as evil.
My responsibility as an artist is to turn up at the page or the piano or the microphone. The rest is up to God.
The actualising of God through the medium of the love song remains my prime motivation as an artist.
Oh, a passing, skeptical kind of interest. I’m a hammer-and-nails kind of guy.
God is in everything whether I’m mentioning him or not.
If you’re involved with imagination and the creative process, it’s not such a difficult thing to believe in a God. But I’m not involved in any religions, and I’ve never intended to make religious records or records that preach some kind of point of view.
You don’t meet a lot of people that you really like. I don’t anyway.
I think there is a certain perversity in my music in that I continue, you know, to eat at the same ball of vomit year after year.
I think there’s a certain numbness in modern society, that accepts certain kinds of violence, but represses other kinds of violence.
No wonder sorrow doesn’t smile much. No wonder sadness is so sad.
I have a very strange relationship in general with women around my music. There’s some that understand it and some that think there should be a law against it.
Rock music is the province of the young, and it should be made by young people. I’m not running around in a pair of spandex tights trying to reclaim my youth.
Sorrow’s child grieves not what has passed, but all the past still yet to come.
You’re one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan.