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And my dad wanted me to play the trumpet because that's what he liked. His idol was Louis Armstrong. My dad thought my teeth came together in a way that was perfect for playing the trumpet.

Jackson Browne

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Jackson Browne
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: October 9
Composer
Environmentalist
Guitarist
Keyboardist
Manufacturer
Musician
Pianist
Recording Artist
Singer
Singer-Songwriter
Songwriter
Clyde Jackson Browne
Thought
Idol
Together
Idols
Wanted
Teeth
Play
Liked
Way
Dad
Trumpet
Playing
Armstrong
Came
Trumpets
Perfect
Louis

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When you turn out the light, I've got to hand it to me. Looks like it's you and me again tonight Rosie.
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Coffee in the morning, cocaine afternoons.
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The idea that I wrote something that stood for the way I feel about things, and that it lasts, that's probably my favorite thing that I've done.
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Oh Lord, are there really people starving still?
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Where the search for the truth is conducted with a wink and a nod And where power and position are equated with the grace of God These times are famine for the soul while for the senses it's a feast From the edge of my country, as far as you see, looking east
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People know more about baseball players contracts than they do about the policies that govern the fate of our childrens lives in twenty years. Think about it. People used to say, the whole time I was growing up, Do you want to bring a child into this world? Thats pretty dire.
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You would think with all the genius and the brilliance of these times, we might find a higher purpose and a better use of mind.
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The first to come and the last to go, working for that minimum wage.
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I never was a very good singer.
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Famine and disaster, right there in front of you, and the more you watch, the less you do.
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Out into the cool of the evening strolls the pretender. He knows that all his hopes and dreams begin and end there.
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I want to know what became of the changes we waited for love to bring/Were they only the fitful dreams of some greater awakening?
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Don't confront me with my failures, I had not forgotten them.
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Caught between the longing for love, and the struggle for the legal tender, where the sirens sing and the church bells ring, and the junk man pounds his fender. Where the veterans dream of the fight, fast asleep at the traffic light, and the children solemnly wait for the ice cream vendor.
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We may lose and we may win, but we will never be here again.
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Somewhere between the time you arrive and the time you go may lie a reason you were alive, but you'll never know.
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In the end, they traded their tired wings for the resignation that living brings. And exchanged love's bright and fragile glow for the glitter and the rouge, and in the moment they were swept before the deluge.
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I've written many extra verses to songs that I learned to sing - an extra verse about a friend, or just add some verse - and that led to writing my own songs.
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I love to read. I love to stretch. In the morning, I get up, and if I'm not in a hurry, I will lie on the floor on a rug, look through some books and magazines, and maybe listen to music and try to do stretching exercises to tune up.
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The biggest influence? I've had several at different times - but the biggest for me was Bob Dylan, who was a guy that came along when I was twelve or thirteen and just changed all the rules about what it meant to write songs.
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