I Can Only Sing Songs My Way.

If I'm Going To Sing Like Someone Else, Then I Don't Need To Sing At All.

Singing Songs Like 'the Man I Love' Or 'porgy' Is No More Work Than Sitting Down And Eating Chinese Roast Duck, And I Love Roast Duck.

Love Is Like A Faucet, It Turns Off And On.

The Difficult I'll Do Right Now. The Impossible Will Take A Little While.

So I Asked Him To Play "trav'lin' All Alone." That Came Closer Than Anything To The Way I Felt. And Some Part Of It Must Have Come Across. The Whole Joint Quieted Down. If Someone Had Dropped A Pin, It Would Have Sounded Like A Bomb. When I Finished, Everybody In The Joint Was Crying In Their Beer, And I Picked Thirty-eight Bucks Up Off The Floor. . . . When I Showed Mom The Money For The Rent And Told Her I Had A Regular Job Singing For Eighteen Dollars A Week, She Could Hardly Believe It.