No one remembers the singer. The song remains.
My sense of proprietorship has been so weak that actually I didn’t pay attention and I lost the copyrights on a lot of the songs.
Life was much like a song. In the beginning there is mystery, in the end there is confirmation, but it’s in the middle where all the emotion resides to make the whole thing worthwhile.
If I knew where the good songs came from I would go there more often.
I’m not claiming divinity. I’ve never claimed purity of soul. I’ve never claimed to have the answers to life. I only put out songs and answer questions as honestly as I can.
“Bad men have no songs.” – How is it that the Russians have songs?[“Böse Menschen haben keine Lieder.” – Wie kommt es, dass die Russen Lieder haben?]
