The Only Reason They're Out

The Blues To Me Is Like Being Very Sad, Very Sick, Going To Church, Being Very Happy ... It's Sort Of A Mixed Up Thing. You Just Have To Feel It.

You Can't Copy Anybody And End With Anything. If You Copy, It Means You're Working Without Any Real Feeling.

So I Asked Him To Play "trav'lin' All Alone." That Came Closer Than Anything To The Way I Felt. And Some Part Of It Must Have Come Across. The Whole Joint Quieted Down. If Someone Had Dropped A Pin, It Would Have Sounded Like A Bomb. When I Finished, Everybody In The Joint Was Crying In Their Beer, And I Picked Thirty-eight Bucks Up Off The Floor. . . . When I Showed Mom The Money For The Rent And Told Her I Had A Regular Job Singing For Eighteen Dollars A Week, She Could Hardly Believe It.

In This Country, Don't Forget, A Habit Is No Damn Private Hell. There's No Solitary Confinement Outside Of Jail. A Habit Is Hell For Those You Love. And In This Country It's The Worst Kind Of Hell For Those Who Love You.

Love Is Like A Faucet, It Turns Off And On.