I have no home but me.

It is ultimately character that underwrites art.

January is my favorite month, when the light is plainest, least colored. And I like the feeling of beginnings.

There's a small still center into which conception can arrive. And when it arrives, you make it welcome with your experience.

I worked in between carpools and buying food and cooking and whatever else I had to do. I lived an outside life, but really I was living an inside life.

I have been flooded with color on the inside, drab on the outside.

the knowledge of personal failure ... is the invaluable predicate of all honest compassion.

I never decided at all to be an artist; being an artist seems to have happened to me.

I've struggled all my life to get maximum meaning in the simplest possible form.

Art comes into the highest part of the mind, that with which we can know the presence of God.

I have slowly come to realize that a family is composed of people who are teaching one another.

Love ... is the honoring of others in a way that grants them the grace of their own autonomy and allows mutual discovery.

The nice thing about money is that you can do good things with it. I still feel like if something needs to be done or we need to raise money for someone on death row, we can find ways to do it.

Things like guitars and ukuleles, you should never part with it, because there will probably be good, healthy times spent, just playing and writing.

It seems like every time I start to feel good, something really awful happens. It's like it's really terrible.

I don't trust nobody, especially when they say something good.

I would do anything to be around music. You don't even have to pay me.

Society, you're a crazy breed.

War hurts. It hurts no matter which sides the bombs are falling on.