The government bugged the men's room in the local disco lounge.
No shame, no solution, no remorse, no retribution, just people selling t-shirts.
I am an expert witness because I say I am.
Selling eight million copies of your first album will mess you up.
I think my first instrument was a ukulele that they gave me. I used to know how to play that pretty well.
We live a protracted adolescence. At some point you must leave the party.
I played drums on Keith Carradine's first record.
I said, baby, do you have no shame? She just looked at me, uncomprehendingly, like cows at a passing train.
I don't mind doing two or three Eagles songs and playing the drums. I'm not one of those artists who's going to sit here and deny the past.
Fortune smiles on some, and lets the others go free.
I could have played more complex stuff. I could have been a busier player. But that's not what I wanted to do. I played what I wanted to play.
I'm blessed with a pretty good voice. So just sitting back there banging on the tubs wasn't enough.
Johnny can get down and Johnny can throw up, but Johnny can't read.
I remember a time when things were a lot more fun around here, when good was good and evil was evil, before things got fuzzy.
The Eagles ended on a rather abrupt note, although in retrospect I realize now that it had been ending for quite some time.
I have a certain pool of subject matter that I like to write about, things that interest me: politics, religion, ecology, and relationships between men and women. And that's usually what I focus on.
Arm chair warriors often fail.
Some records with drum machines on them sound phony and plastic. It all depends on how you use the tools.
Between each album I try to gain a new insight that I didn't have before and perhaps write a song about something that I've written about before, but from a fresh viewpoint.
I was flying back from Lubbock and I saw Jesus on the plane, or maybe it was Elvis. You know, they kind of look the same.
It was a pretty good year for predators.
What are these voices outside love's open door, make us throw off our contentment, and beg for something more?
This year, notoriety got confused with fame, and the devil is down hearted because there is nothing left for him to claim.
We're being treated to the wisdom of some puffed up, little fart. Doing exactly what I used to do, pretensions to anarchy and art.
Insect politics, indifferent universe. Bang your head against the wall, but apathy is worse.
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