I tend the flowers of my mindWatering our memories as they bloom

As I think therefore I amAm I more if I think more?

Coming down life's highwayAt ninety mile an hour I want to slideWith bad brakes and bald tiresInto my final parking space

Do your thoughts continue and repeat a cycle Seed, growth, bloom, and seed again

Life doesn't revolve around youIt revolves around those you love

Thankful another tomorrow greetsAs I drink from cup of time And prepare to lock the door behind meand leave it to others

When you build a house You nail down memories Paint and stain the fabric of time

There is nothing to fearFrom your reflection

Life is the night skyAll the dots of stars are happiness

Each day is always breaking out anew Aspirations swirling round what you do

We learn and grow Always building on what we know

I think, if one is a true art lover, he can't stick to a particular genre. Art knows no partitions, no boundaries.

All my integrity seemed to lie in saying No.

If a palmist grasp my palm, and look into it, without seeing a single line, what would he read?

I've never really cared if I was famous for my music. It was just something I had to do.

Most of my jokes are racist - usually about the Irish.

What payoff are you getting for remaining stuck at this point in your expansion?

If you are a child of God, know that every promise in the Bible is yours.

I bought some powdered water, but I don’t know what to add.

It is a fact which escapes no one, that, generally speaking, whoso is acquainted with his worth has but a little stock to cultivate acquaintance with.

If you have insight, you use your inner eye, your inner ear, to pierce to the heart of things, and have no need of intellectual knowledge.