Love can isolate us from everything around us. But in its absence, we can be filled with the fear that something comparable exists.
Fear, she's the mother of violence.
Artists everywhere steal mercilessly all the time and I think this is healthy.
Everybody nose dive, hold your breath, count to five. Back slap, booby trap, cover it up in bubble wrap. Room shake, earth quake, find a way to stay awake. It's going to blow, it's going to break, this is more than I can take.
With this darkness all around me, I like to be liked. In this emptiness and fear, I want to be wanted. Cause I love to be loved.
The rhythm is below me, the rhythm of the heat. The rhythm is around me, the rhythm has control. The rhythm is inside me, the rhythm has my soul.
Whistling tunes we're kissing baboons in the jungle.
I like not thinking when I am working. I thrive on that feeling of attempting to move on total instinct and inner feelings. . . that to me is "soul"; soul music. Almost everyone else uses a great deal of thought processes. . . they are idea men.
A BOUNTY on the exportation of corn tends to lower its price to the foreign consumer, but it has no permanent effect on its price in the home market.
I said I'm going to hit the next one right over the flagpole. God must have been with me.
Our moral responsibility is not to stop future, but to shape it. . . to channel our destiny in humane directions and to ease the trauma of transition.