Let Me Be Clear About This. I

In Fact, I Take The View That God, In His Infinite Wisdom, Didn't Bother To Spring For Two Joints - Heaven And Hell. They're The Same Place, But Heaven Is When You Get Everything You Want And You Meet Mummy And Daddy And Your Best Friends And You All Have A Hug And A Kiss And Play Your Harps. Hell Is The Same Place - No Fire And Brimstone - But They Just All Pass By And Don't See You. There's Nothing, No Recognition. You're Waving, “it's Me, Your Father,” But You're Invisible. You're On A Cloud, You've Got Your Harp, But You Can't Play With Nobody Because They Don't See You. That's Hell.

No Broken Hearts, No Broken Necks.

But I'm Not Here Just To Make Records And Money. I'm Here To Say Something And To Touch Other People, Sometimes In A Cry Of Desperation: "do You Know This Feeling?

[joking About The Length Of The Rolling Stones' Career] You Have The Sun, You Have The Moon, You Have The Air That You Breathe - And You Have The Rolling Stones!

A Gut-string Classical Spanish Guitar, A Sweet, Lovely Little Lady. The Smell Of It. Even Now, To Open A Guitar Case, When It's An Old Wooden Guitar, I Could Crawl In And Close The Lid.