For 't is always fair weather When good fellows get together With a stein on the table and a good song ringing clear.

I do not know beneath what sky nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know it shall be high, I only know it shall be great.

I am sick of four walls and a ceiling I have need of the sky, I have business with the grass.

Spring in the world! And all things are made new!

Ye who made war that your ships Should lay to at the beck of no nation, Make war now on Murder, that slips The leash of her hounds of damnation; Ye who remembered the Alamo, Remember the Maine!

Our cheer goes back to them, the valiant dead! Laurels and roses on their graves to-day, lilies and laurels over them we lay, and violets o'er each unforgotten head.

And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and sold, The wealth of nations is men, not silk and cotton and gold.

I am fevered with the sunset, I am fretful with the bay, For the wander-thirst is on me And my soul is in Cathay.

The East and the West in the spring of the world shall blend / As a man and a woman that plight / Their troth in the warm spring night.

Who would not rather flounder in the fight than not have known the glory of the fray?

Nor love they least Who strike with right good will To vanquish ill And fight God's battle upward from the beast.

Don't interpret anything too much. This is time waster number 1.

The verdict of the Greek people renders the troika a thing of the past for our common European framework.

Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia. Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.

The music business has let me touch a lot of people with my talent.

The language has got to be fully alive - I can't bear dull, flaccid writing myself and I don't see why any reader should put up with it.

The bourgeois prefers comfort to pleasure, convenience to liberty, and a pleasant temperature to the deathly inner consuming fire.

If you have a counterculture band, you put a name on it, you call them beatniks, and you can sell something - books or bebop. Or you label them as hippies and you can sell tie-dyed T-shirts.

The best player I ever played with was Dennis Johnson.

Reason was for suckers and Presbyterians.

There's been cultural rot since there's been culture.