There'll be icicles and birthday clothes And sometimes there'll be sorrow

People used to say nobody can sing my songs but me, they're too personal.

People used to say nobody can sing my songs but me - they're too personal.

I think I would go further into fine arts, I think, if I were to continue.

Not to dismiss Gershwin, but Gershwin is the chip; Ellington was the block.

I don't know how to sell out. If I tried to sell out I don't think I could.

I'm a fine artist working in a commercial arena, so that's my cross to bear

Oh it gets so lonely When you're walking And the streets are full of strangers

The pirate he will sink you with a kiss, he'll steal your heart and sail away.

We're captive on the carousel of time, we can't return we can only look behind.

Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone.

You snipe so steady, you snub so snide, so rip and ready to diminish and deride.

I always thought the women of song don't get along, and I don't know why that is.

We are stardust, we are golden and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden.

I don't like to make fluffy little songs, but now I want to make some light songs.

Will you take me as I am? Strung out on another man...California, I'm comin' home.

everything comes and goes; pleasure moves on too early and trouble leaves too slow

My name had gone stale, and no matter how progressive I got, it was my time to die.

I am a woman of heart and mind, looking for affection and respect, a little passion.

There are things to confess that enrich the world, and things that need not be said.

Depression can be the sand that makes the pearl. Most of my best work came out of it.

In some ways, my gift for music and writing was born out of tragedy, really, and loss.

No one likes to have less than they had before. That's the nature of the human animal.

Rolling Stone hates me. They must have an editorial policy to do me in for many years.

All I really, really want our love to do is to bring out the best in me and in you too.

I get the same charge from juxtaposition of colors as I do from juxtaposition of chords.

Elusive dreams and vague desires fanned to fiery needs by deadly deeds of falling empires.

The considerations of a corporation, especially now, have nothing to do with art or music.

The Hollywood sirens are shrieking, while down some search lit alley runs some lost belief.

Edith Piaf knocked my socks off when I was 8, but I didn't know what she was singing about.

Paul Simon started piling up a lot of words, more than the bar could handle, and I stopped!

I didn't like the sound of people gasping at the mere mention of my name. It horrified me...

Fly silly sea bird, no dreams can possess you, no voices can blame you for sun on your wings.

Musically, I would never run dry. Any time I sit down to an instrument, I could write a song.

Buddy Holly and the early rock 'n' roll was no lighter than the way I play. It's very minimal.

My individual, psychological descent coincided, ironically, with my ascent into the public eye.

Richard got married to a figure skater, and he bought her a dishwasher and a coffee percolator.

I was anti-intellectual to the nth. Basically I liked to dance and paint, and that was about it.

The songwriting was almost like something I did while I was waiting for my daughter to come back.

Lord, there's danger in this land, you get witch hunts and wars when church and state hold hands.

We call for the three great stimulants of the exhausted ones, artifice, brutality, and innocence.

All romantics meet the same fate some day. Drunk and cynical and boring someone in some dark cafe.

If you see yourself as a kingly type, then you need your serfs and your army and so on around you.

I'm a very analytical person, a somewhat introspective person; that's the nature of the work I do.

I live in a box of paints I'm frightened by the devil And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid

My husband had an education. He had a degree in Literature. I married into a camp of literary types.

But I have a tremendous will to live and a tremendous 'joie de vivre,' alternating with irritability.

Everyone I know has attention deficit, and they say it with great pride. It's a bad time to be right.

I had made all these rules for myself: I'm not writing social commentary, I'm not writing love songs.

The only thing I have to give to make you smile, to win you with, are all the mornings still to live.

Share This Page