No ends, simply means.
There is someone who is living my life. And I know nothing about him.
It is misery, you know, unspeakable misery for the man who lives alone and who detests sordid, casual affairs; not old enough to do without women, but not young enough to be able to go and look for one without shame!
Not one of us can lie or pretend. We're all fixed in good faith in a certain concept of ourselves.
Man never reasons so much and becomes so introspective as when he suffers; since he is anxious to get at the cause of his sufferings, to learn who has produced them, and whether it is just or unjust that he should have to bear them.
Buffoons, buffoons! One can play any tune on them!
We all grasp on to a single idea of ourselves, the way aging people dye their hair. It’s no matter that this dye doesn’t fool you. My lady, you don’t dye your hair to decieve other people, or to fool yourself, but rather to cheat your image in your mirror a little.
I love vinyl, but I'm not a 'vinyl person'. I still collect, but most of my stuff is digital.
Each of us, if we would grow, must be committed to excellence. The championships, the money, the color; all of these things linger only in the memory. It is the spirit, the will to excel, the will to win; these are the things that endure.
Any musician who says he is playing better either on tea, the needle, or when he is juiced, is a plain, straight liar. When I get too much to drink, I can't even finger well, let alone play decent ideas. . . . You can miss the most important years of your life, the years of possible creation.
I'm doing 'I Hate My Teenage Daughter' with Katie Finneran and Jaime Pressly.