I'm just tired of everything…even of the echoes. There is nothing in my life but echoes…echoes of lost hopes and dreams and joys. They're beautiful and mocking. ↗
My most resolute opponents believe that I am too visible, that I am a little too alive, that my name echoes too much in the texts which they nevertheless claim to be inaccessible. ↗
To me, there is nothing better than me going into the studio with a live band and hearing those violins and that echo and that sound. I mean I loved it. ↗
This inevitability of conflict motivates us today and echoes the reminder that freedom is not given away and our national security is not achieved without sacrifice. ↗
I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all. ↗
Words can be said in bitterness and anger, and often there seems to be an element of truth in the nastiness. And words don't go away, they just echo around. ↗