There may be said to be three sorts of lawyers, able, unable, and lamentable.

I do a job I really, really love and I kind of have fun with. People think you can't be grown up unless you're moaning about your job.

There is no secret so close as that between a rider and his horse.

I'd rather spend my time looking at the sky than listening to Whitney Houston.

When we started I wasn't the singer. I was the drunk rhythm guitarist who wrote all these weird songs.

Refusing to grow up is like refusing to accept your limitations. That's why I don't think we'll ever grow up.

It's really easy to slide into a depression fueled by the pointlessness of existence.

I lose myself in music because I can't be bothered explaining what I feel to anyone else around me.

I've always spent more time with a smile on my face than not, but the thing is, I don't write about it.

I've discovered special makeup by a company called M.A.C. You could wear it on the surface of the sun and it wouldn't move.

I had no desire to be famous; I just wanted to make the greatest music ever made. I didn't want anyone to know who I was.

Analysis kills spontaneity. The grain once ground into flour springs and germinates no more.

Living a life fully engaged in full of whimsy and the kind of things that love does is something most people plan to do, but along the way they just kind of forget.

An interesting thing about New York City is that the subways run through the sewers.

I have always considered Saipan the decisive battle of the Pacific offensive...(it was) the naval and military heart and brain of the Japanese defence strategy.

Again, as egotistical as I am, as self-centered as I am, and as much as I love strangers idolizing me, I find it very crass to be self-promoter in a way.

I like vengeance as much as the next guy, if the next guy likes vengeance a whole lot.

Causal analysis provides absolutely no value judgment, and a value judgment is absolutely not a causal explanation.

Never, ever rest on your laurels. Today's laurels are tomorrow's compost.

It may be that the ignorant man, alone, Has any chance to mate his life with life That is the sensual, pearly spouse, the life That is fluent in even the wintriest bronze.

Poetry fettered fetters the human race.