There was a period when I couldn’t get through the day without hearing — Jeff Buckley

"Everything I ever projected to be, it was—even the stinky, ratty, vomity part of it. Everybody has to do the subway. Everybody has to smell the same smells. And people get mad all the time. When people don’t like something, like ‘Get out of my way you blah, blah, blah.’ But [in L.A.] it’s like, ‘How ya doing? Let’s do lunch! I love you!’"

"RR: Whenever Ive seen you play here in New York at or Fez, people sit there mesmerized. JB: People werent into it at first. I had to fight to be heard. Then I had to stop fighting. Whole months would go by where people would just be talking. I even got a headache from a performance one time. RR: What changed? JB: I learned how to use everything in the room as the music. A tune has to resonate with whatever is happening around it. So if people are talking, I let them talk. That just means theyre part of the music. I even had to learn the noise the dishwasher makes at this little cafe; I had to play in B-flat, or it wouldnt sound right. RR: I want to talk about another Michael. I read a review that compared your recent EP, , with Michael Boltons new record. JB: Oh, my God! Oh, shit, thats really disgusting! RR: It gets worse. They said he has succeeded in taking from the tradition of African American soul and blues singers in a way that you have miserably failed. JB: Really? But the thing is, Im not taking from that tradition. I dont want to be black. Michael Bolton desperately wants to be black, black, black. He also sucks."

"Dr. Drew: What will you remember most about the 90s? Sebastian Bach: The album Grace by Jeff Buckley. Unless youve heard it, you wouldnt know why. Dr. Drew: Whats your favorite album for a night of steamy monkey love? Sebastian Bach: Jeff Buckleys Grace is the most romantic, sensual album Ive heard in my life."

"AV: You grew up in , what was that like? JB: From womb to tomb, its thug country. Im amazed that I had any friends at all. People grow up repressed from the spirit, day by day by day. Cable TV, its fucked. Its misogyny, its birth, death, work, its misery, its power. Its fuckin hicks. And thats what I grew up with. I was rootless trailer trash. Now I prefer the to any place on the planet. I can be who I am here. I couldnt do it anyplace I lived as a child. I never fit in , even though my roots are there."

"and and , all dark, all romantic. When I say "romantic," I mean a sensibility that sees everything, and has to express everything, and still doesnt know what the fuck it is, it hurts that bad. It just madly tries to speak whatever it feels, and that can mean vast things. That sort of mentality can turn a sun-kissed orange into a flaming meteorite, and make it sound like that in a song."

"He tapped into something...and he was the conduit...and it makes me think of this: where does art come from; where does a true genius come from?"

"Yeah, there was a period in the late 80s where I was working with different shaman. Myself and a friend, Beene, would take ayahuasca - but it wouldnt be in the liquid form, it would be a freeze-dried pill - and mushrooms. Some of those trips were eighteen hours long and Ill never forget, once I ended up sitting by the bush trying to ask the flowers why they didnt like me. Its like, Why cant I be your friend? I was crawling out of my skin at that time. In my twenties I was really... I was just losing my mind."

"I confess without shame that I am tired & sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. Even success, the most brilliant is over dead and mangled bodies […] It is only those who have not heard a shot, nor heard the shrills & groans of the wounded & lacerated (friend or foe) that cry aloud for more blood & more vengeance, more desolation & so help me God as a man & soldier I will not strike a foe who stands unarmed & submissive before me but will say ‘Go sin no more.’"

"Where was his boyhood now? Where was the soul that had hung back from her destiny, to brood alone upon the shame of her wounds and in her house of squalor and subterfuge to queen it in faded cerements and in wreaths that withered at the touch? Or where was he? He was alone. He was unheeded, happy and near to the wild heart of life. He was alone and young and wilful and wildhearted, alone amid a waste of wild air and brackish waters and the sea-harvest of shells and tangle and veiled grey sunlight and gayclad lightclad figures of children and girls and voices childish and girlish in the air. A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a cranes and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a birds, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face. She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as the bells of sleep; hither and thither, hither and thither; and a faint flame trembled on her cheek."

"[in a letter to Clarice Starling] Dear Clarice, I have followed with enthusiasm the course of your disgrace and public shaming. My own never bothered me, except for the inconvenience of being incarcerated, but you may lack perspective."

"They are shamelessly copying us."

"The hearts of their families are still broken and bereaved and our people remain grief-stricken and angry. Instead of apology and remorse and judicial prosecution of those who were directly at fault in that horrifying event, Saudi rulers- with utmost shamelessness and insolence- refused to allow the formation of an international Islamic fact-finding committee."