What I Do Is Unusual:

My Heart Is Broken In The Face Of The Stupidity Of My Species.

Acid, Booze, And Ass, Needles, Guns, And Grass, Lots Of Laughs.

Not To Dismiss Gershwin, But Gershwin Is The Chip; Ellington Was The Block.

You Could Write A Song About Some Kind Of Emotional Problem You Are Having, But It Would Not Be A Good Song, In My Eyes, Until It Went Through A Period Of Sensitivity To A Moment Of Clarity. Without That Moment Of Clarity To Contribute To The Song, It's Just Complaining.

Love Is Touching Souls.