I had a dream that I saw shooting stars with you. Two things that will come close to never happening: Seeing shooting stars, and being with you.

When my hands can no longer make these hammers and strings play for you, my heart will always sing to you.

You're gone and you left me. My heart has dissipated. The only thing I can feel is the blood rushing through my veins and the strings that hold my fragile heart together.

You've left me with a kaleidoscope of broken smiles and shattered dreams.

Keeping busy is the hardest part. When I find myself still, clear of thoughts, I can still feel you holding me.

We'll meet again, but you're a lifetime away, and I need you now.

Look up, always. Look back, never.

Sure, I've had times it was hard to meditate....But even then I still end up being more calmly agitated.

It's a 360-degree sound experience. Like you're in the middle of the band. A lot of people have the technology to play the format, so why not put it out there. It sounds great.

I wear glasses, have a big scar, I sing loud, and I am blond. I'm sorry!

I grew up believing that the willingness and ability to work is the basic ingredient of successful farming. Hard, intelligent work is the key. Use it, and your chances for success are good.

As we all know, poets are born brain-wired a certain way and every poet I know wrote as a child. I'm no exception.

Business can talk itself into a blue funk.

The notion that you could discard the old world and now make a new one. This is what was so bad about Modernism.

The so-called nouvelle cuisine usually means not enough on your plate and too much on your bill.

If you want to save a species, simply decide to eat it. Then it will be managed - like chickens, like turkeys, like deer, like Canadian geese.

What could be more superstitious than the idea that money brings forth food?