Follow the yellow brick road.
The road to the City of Emeralds is paved with yellow brick.
Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith.
Composing is like driving down a foggy road toward a house. Slowly you see more details of the house-the color of the slates and bricks, the shape of the windows. The notes are the bricks and the mortar of the house.
Composing is like driving down a foggy road.
I'd rather drive the yellow brick road, you wouldn't happen to know of a rental car place around.
How lonely it is going to be now on the Yellow Brick Road.
Your dreams are ballbusters; they're not the yellow brick road.
Talk about the flag or drugs or crime (never about race or class or justice) and follow the yellow brick road to the wonderful land of consensus. In place of honest argument among consenting adults the politicians substitute a lullaby for frightened children: the pretense that conflict doesn't really exist, that we have achieved the blessed state in which we no longer need politics.
I just go with the flow, I follow the yellow brick road. I don't know where it's going to lead me, but I follow it.
or simply:
