Here is my theory on this one. If you write things down, if there is a mystery and you try and explain it, once you've written it down for permanent, in due time, it'll be proven stupid.

It's easy. You draw a red line on the ground, right? Then you wait for a chicken to come along. When he arrives, he puts his beak right on the line and he's hypnotized!

Here is my theory on this one. If you write things down, if there is a mystery and you try and explain it, once you've written it down for permanent, in due time, it'll be proven stupid.

Doolittle was a major influence on the Seattle grunge scene, which emerged in the early 1990s.

I can hardly understand the Australian accent.

I don't like to go trampling on other people's sounds. That's really about it - I don't gravitate towards it, I try to move away from it.

I have to say, I have an affinity for Bossanova. It's very warm-sounding to me - lush and simple. I like that.

I screw up on the delay settings, so pretty much everything is manually done by me - I don't have those presets like the Edge has.

I'm not technical. When I listen to music, I gravitate more toward the sonic aspect of it. The technical stuff of it, I get bored with it. These long solos? OK, already. You know your scales, big deal. I know it, too, but I don't want to do that.

I've just been reading about cycling. Yeah, I'm not that great at it but I like the challenge of it.

It does just boil down to music.

It's always nice to end your sentences with an exclamation mark, and not a comma.

It's the best marriage of songs and production. But I have to say, I have an affinity for Bossanova.

Just trying to be different - when I hear something - I don't like to go trampling on other people's sounds.

People do ask, 'Are you going to embellish this stuff?' I wouldn't change any of my guitar parts.

The saddest thing is that when I sat down to rehearse for the Pixies, I couldn't believe that I had given up something that I loved. Now I hold the drum at night and I want to go to bed with it.

The song I like to do is 'Dead.' I'm constantly playing that one.

Where I live, there's a lot of canyons. We're climbing constantly - we're like mountain goats. I'm just trying to get better at that.

There were a lot of adventure books for boys, historical novels by Kenneth Roberts, and whatever mystery novels the alarmed librarian imagined might not corrupt an eager but innocent youth.

Having soon discovered to be great, I must appear so, and therefore studiously avoided mixing in society, and wrapped myself in mystery, devoting my time to fasting and prayer.

It seems to me that good novels celebrate the mystery in ordinary life, and summing it all up in psychological terms strips the mystery away.

The key to the mystery of a great artist is that for reasons unknown, he will give away his energies and his life just to make sure that one note follows another... and leaves us with the feeling that something is right in the world.

Sir, you have tasted two whole worms; you have hissed all my mystery lectures and been caught fighting a liar in the quad; you will leave by the next town drain.

Everything I write comes from my childhood in one way or another. I am forever drawing on the sense of mystery and wonder and possibility that pervaded that time of my life.

The only mystery in life is why the kamikaze pilots wore helmets.

For those who live neither with religious consolations about death nor with a sense of death (or of anything else) as natural, death is the obscene mystery, the ultimate affront, the thing that cannot be controlled. It can only be denied.

I think that the ideal space must contain elements of magic, serenity, sorcery and mystery.

It is the mystery of the creative act that something other than our conscious self takes over.

The mystery is what prompted men to leave caves, to come out of the womb of nature.

At least half the mystery novels published violate the law that the solution, once revealed, must seem to be inevitable.

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is God's gift, that's why we call it the present.

Religion points to that area of human experience where in one way or another man comes upon mystery as a summons to pilgrimage.

Ballet is sort of a mystery to me. And I don't want to unravel that mystery.

I thought I had a clear picture of death, but now I know it's a mystery and it will always be a mystery, although it is something we all have in common: everybody knows that life ends with death.

It is a great mystery that though the human heart longs for Truth, in which alone it finds liberation and delight, the first reaction of human beings to Truth is one of hostility and fear!

It is not as though the process of production holds any mystery for me, I know exactly what it involves and I know the predominant concern in shooting one of those things is production values - or as they would say, seeing it all up there on screen.

The great mystery to me is how restaurant critics think they can get away with doing their job without anybody noticing who they are.

The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.

Every branch of human knowledge, if traced up to its source and final principles, vanishes into mystery.

It may interest you to know that my breakup with Terry and this mystery did not happen concurrently in real life. That is a writer's device, which places Gabriel under even greater pressure when the mystery begins to reveal itself.

The first step towards vice is to shroud innocent actions in mystery, and whoever likes to conceal something sooner or later has reason to conceal it.

That was the crossover line for us, to be able to play that many shows, sell them out real quick and have that tribe queue up outside and still be a mystery to everybody else.

Evil being the root of mystery, pain is the root of knowledge.

For tribal man space was the uncontrollable mystery. For technological man it is time that occupies the same role.

To us sin has not become any less of a mystery or a pain.

There is one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath.

It would certainly be interesting to know what the CIA knew about Oswald six weeks before the assassination, but the contents of this particular message never reached the Warren Commission and remain a complete mystery.

It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.

Time is still the great mystery to us. It is no more than a concept; we don't know if it even exists.