Be happy in your body. It's the only one you've got, so you might as well like it.
At about the age of ten, my friends and I discovered the joys of sitting in graveyards drinking merrydown cider and kissing and stealing our elder siblings' records.
I don't read music; I taught myself guitar.
When I first started writing, a friend said I should be careful because I'm letting people know how to reach right in and play with my workings. And they do!
Therapy is like telling your nightmares when you're a kid; they lose their power to hurt and control.
The husk could be some useless bloke or losing myself and changing my DNA with bottomless grief.
To me songwriting is more like redemption. I can extract the poison or the pollen, the essence from a situation and the rest becomes a husk that blows away.
I wish from my soul that the legislature of this State could see the policy of a gradual Abolition of Slavery.
I like that people who are not experts can not only understand but get engaged by my work. I like that Joe Paterno can read me. Bill Bradley.
Husbands lie, Masha. I should know; I've eaten my share. That's lesson one. Lesson number two: among the topics about which a husband is most likely to lie are money, drink, black eyes, political affiliation, and women who squatted on his lap before and after your sweet self.
I love museums. But I don't want to live in one.