I am one of the best five writers to come out of English music since the war.
The United States has held out against taking part in any of the world consensus that there should be a court of human rights or that there should be an international court of criminal justice.
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way.
In the finished article, the only thing that is important is whether it moves you or not. There is nothing else that is important at all.
Everybody’s got somewhere they call home.
I always used to look at books and wonder how anybody could come up with so many words. But my divorce and then falling in love with somebody else has released in me an ability to write in other ways apart from songs.
Did you see the frightened ones, Did you hear the falling bombs, Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter in the promise of a brave new world unfurlled beaneath the clear blue skies. Good bye blue skies.
There are so many people out there who think they are fans of Pink Floyd – and certainly the work I did in Pink Floyd – who are still furious that I left.
When I first got a guitar, it was a Spanish, classical thing.
Money, so they say, is the root of all evil today. But if you ask for a rise it’s no surprise that they’re giving none away.
In my rear view mirror the sun is going down sinking behind bridges in the road and I think of all the good things that we have left undone and I suffer premonitions confirm suspicions of the holocaust to come.
Life is long. But it goes fast.
When you’ve done something, certainly if you create a piece of music, you then hear it with fresh ears when you play it for somebody else.
I confess I’ve never felt like a passenger.
When we grew up and went to school There were certain teachers who would Hurt the children anyway they could By pouring their derision Upon anything we did And exposing every weakness However carefully hidden by the kids.
Would you like to watch TV or get between the sheets and contemplate this violent freeway, would you like something to eat would you like to learn to fly would ya, would you like to see me try.
All in all you’re just another brick in the wall.
Envy is the bond between the hopeful and the damned.
No dark sarcasm, in the classroom.
What have we here, laddie? Mysterious scribblings? A secret code? Oh, poems, no less! Poems, everybody!