Speaking as one who has abused privilege a long time, I tell you, it’s great to be alive.
I might have made a tactical error not going to a physician for 20 years. It was one of those phobias that didn’t pay off.
We made mad love shadow love random love and abandoned love. Accidentally like a martyr. The hurt gets worse, and the heart gets harder.
I’ve been to Paris. And it ain’t that pretty at all.
Sickness, doctors, that scares me, not violence – helplessness. That’s why I turn to violent stories.
I loved Hendrix. I mean, really, really loved him. As if he were one of the great classical composers. And he was. That’s how I saw him.
Maybe you simply criticized someone you hardly knew. You ruined part of their life. For them, part of your life, too.
And I think it’s safe to say that the single very impressive figure to me was Merle Haggard.
But I can’t say that I didn’t like John Hammond’s performances often better than the originals.
I saw a Werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand.
I mean, I haven’t been completely lacking in some enjoyment of Chuck Berry or Buddy Holly. But I just didn’t pay attention to that period of music, obviously.
You’re suppose to sit on your ass and nod at stupid things.
There’s nothing romantic, nothing grand, nothing heroic, nothing brave, nothing like that about drinking. It’s a real coward’s death.
At least I’ve had one foot in a very normal kind of life.
Little old lady got mutilated late last night, werewolves of London, again.
My memory is not even what most peoples is, much less what it oughta be for a discussion like this.
Here’s a story that I really want to tell about Bo Diddley at the OK corral.
And if California slides into the ocean, as the mystics and statistics say it will, I predict this hotel will be standing until I’ve paid my bill.
Well, I was interested in playing the piano from as early as I can remember.
I’m not a big jazz fan.