Billy Joel Quotes

I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.

I am no longer afraid of becoming lost, because the journey back always reveals something new, and that is ultimately good for the artist.

So I would choose to be with you, That's if the choice were mine to make, But you can make decisions too, And you can have this heart to break

I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun.

I really wish I was less of a thinking man and more of a fool not afraid of rejection.

You can get what you want or you can just get old.

In every heart there is a room, A sanctuary safe and strong, To heal the wounds from lovers past, Until a new one comes along

We didn't start the fire It was always burning Since the world's been turning We didn't start the fire No we didn't light it But we tried to fight it

Saying you like "Piano Man" doesn't mean you like Billy Joel; it means you're willing to go to a piano bar if there's nothing else to do

Everyone is a hypocrite in one sense or another and I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.

you may be right, I may be crazy, but it just might be a lunatic you're looking for

Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true. When will you realize... Vienna waits for you.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going

I am, as I've said, merely competent. But in an age of incompetence, that makes me extraordinary.

Only the good die young.

I think music in itself is healing. It's an explosive expression of humanity. It's something we are all touched by. No matter what culture we're from, everyone loves music.

If I ever reach heaven I expect to find three wonders there: first, to meet some I had not thought to see there; second, to miss some I had expected to see there; and third, the greatest wonder of all, to find myself there.

And you know that when the truth is told that you can get what you want or you can just get old.

every time I've held a rose, It seems I only felt the thorns

Slow down you're doing fine You can't be everything you want to be Before your time Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight Too bad but it's the life you lead You're so ahead of yourself That you forfeit what you need Though you can see when you're wrong

I believe I've passed the age of consciousness and righteous rage. I've found that just surviving is a noble fight. I once believed in causes too; I had my pointless points of view. And life went on no matter who as wrong or right.

...And you're the only one who knows.

If you are not doing what you love, you are wasting your time.

Billy Joel was on the radio, singing, “I love you just the way you are.” Big talk, Myron mused, when you’ve been married to Christie Brinkley.

❝Don't take any shit from anybody.❞

You can’t go the distance with too much resistance

Have you listened to the radio lately? Have you heard the canned, frozen and processed product being dished up to the world as American popular music today?

In a way, we are magicians. We are alchemists, sorcerers and wizards. We are a very strange bunch. But there is great fun in being a wizard.

Son, can you play me a memory. I'm not really sure how it goes. It was sad and it was sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man's clothes.

They're sharing a drink called loneliness, but at least its better than drinking alone.

Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike Indiana's early morning dew High up in the hills of California Home is just another word for you

They say that these are not the best of times, but they're the only times I've ever known. And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own. Now I have seen that sad surrender in my lovers eyes...and I can only stand apart and sympathize...for we are only what our situations hand us...it's either sadness or euphoria...

So before we end and then begin We'll drink a toast to how it's been A few more hours to be complete A few more nights on satin sheets A few more times that I can say I've loved these days

They are sitting in Gwendy’s bedroom after school, listening to the new Billy Joel album and supposedly studying for an English mid-term.

♪♫ no one’s gonna play this on the radio ♫♪ Billy Joel So why’s he wasting his time? Because he loves the music, that’s why. And he’s not wasting his time is he? He’s following his dream, doing what he loves. Perhaps if more of us followed our dreams – really followed our own dreams, not someone else’s nutty ideology - the world might be a nicer place to reside in.

You’re a big boy now; you’ll never let her go, but that’s just the kind of thing she ought to know. Tell her about it. Tell her everything you feel. Giver her every reason to accept that you’re for real.

She can kill with a smile She can wound with her eyes She can ruin your faith with her casual lies And she only reveals what she wants you to see She hides like a child But she’s always a woman to me —Billy Joel

She always says I'm the best friend that she's ever had... how do you hang up on someone who needs you that bad? ~From 'Laura' on The Nylon Curtain

You can linger too long in your dreams...

There ain't no island left for islanders like me.

But on another, more potent level, the work of horror really is a dance—a moving, rhythmic search. And what it’s looking for is the place where you, the viewer or the reader, live at your most primitive level. The work of horror is not interested in the civilized furniture of our lives. Such a work dances through these rooms which we have fitted out one piece at a time, each piece expressing—we hope!—our socially acceptable and pleasantly enlightened character. It is in search of another place, a room which may sometimes resemble the secret den of a Victorian gentleman, sometimes the torture chamber of the Spanish Inquisition . . . but perhaps most frequently and most successfully, the simple and brutally plain hole of a Stone Age cave-dweller. Is horror art? On this second level, the work of horror can be nothing else; it achieves the level of art simply because it is looking for something beyond art, something that predates art: it is looking for what I would call phobic pressure points. The good horror tale will dance its way to the center of your life and find the secret door to the room you believed no one but you knew of—as both Albert Camus and Billy Joel have pointed out. The Stranger makes us nervous . . . but we love to try on his face in secret.

He tried to get drunk, “to forget about life for awhile,” as that old Billy Joel song once said, but the scotch couldn't anesthetize his pain and provide a retreat from the reality of his latest failures.

Slow down you're doing fine. You can't be everything you want to be before your time. Too bad, but it's the life you lead You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need. Though you can see when you're wrong You know you can't always see when you're right. You got your passion, you got your pride But don't you know that only fools are satisfied? Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true.

Even when we’re in great distress, joy can still be found in moments we seize and moments we create. Cooking. Dancing. Hiking. Praying. Driving. Singing Billy Joel songs off-key. All of these can provide relief from pain. And when these moments add up, we find that they give us more than happiness; they also give us strength.

For all our mutual experience Our separate conclusions are the same Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity Our reason coexists with our insanity But we choose between reality and madness It's either sadness or euphoria

And it was dark So dark at night And we held on to each other Like brother to brother We promised our mothers we'd write And we would all go down together

And in the evening After the fire and the light One thing is certain: Nothing can hold back the light Time is relentless And as the past disappears We're on the verge of all things new

As a matter of fact, yes,” I lie. “I love classical piano. Beethoven and, uh…those other guys.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Name two pieces.” “Um…‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel.” “Oh, God.” “And ‘Tiny Dancer’ by Elton John.” He grins suddenly, and his face, which is already too nice of a face, transforms into gorgeous.

I would not leave you in your times of trouble. We never could have come this far. I took the good times, I'll take the bad times, I'll take you just the way you are.

music it says all the things that words alone can never say

And the waitress is practicing politics As the businessmen slowly get stoned Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness But its better than drinkin' alone

I’d never screamed out any man’s name before. Except for the time I got fifth row tickets to a Billy Joel concert.

soon you and the rat will be like Billy Joel’s Brenda and Eddie: divorced!

The good horror tale will dance its way to the center of your life and find the secret door to the room you believed no one but you knew of--as both Albert Camus and Billy Joel have pointed out, The Stranger makes us nervous…but we love to try on his face in secret.

I think there’s always a bit of insecurity in love, if you truly love somebody. If you open yourself up, if you allow yourself to be hurt, there’s potential vulnerability. That’s real love. Somebody can stomp all over you if you really love them, and you give them your heart anyway.

How is that light still on, Talbot?” BT asked in hushed tones with a note of reverence in his voice. “There’s a machine with Kit-Kats in there, do you have any change, Mr. T?” Tommy asked hopefully. It’s amazing to me that all of us had known Tommy long enough that nobody even looked halfway cross-eyed at him at his pronouncement. If Tommy had said that a convention of clowns respite with balloon animals was in there singing Billy Joel songs, we would all have believed him. Of course I wouldn’t have gone in, clowns are evil, but I still would have believed him.

There's nothing better than good sex. But bad sex? A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is better than bad sex.

It didn't matter that I felt like a fool 'cause I forgot when she walked through the door.

They say there's a heaven for those who will wait Some say it's better but I say it ain't I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints The sinners are much more fun

when will you realize, vienna waits for you?

I don't know why I go walking at night, but now I'm tired and I don't want to walk anymore. I hope it doesn't take the rest of my life until I find what it is that I've been looking for.

Eso a Billy no le importa. Se considera un buen hombre, solo que tiene un trabajo sucio. Al menos, piensa, nunca he disparado contra un chico de quince años que va camino a la escuela. En el supuesto de que Joel Allen, alias Joe, realmente hiciera una cosa así.

The Man With the Child in His Eyes’ – Kate Bush ‘Go Your Own Way’ – Fleetwood Mac ‘Sex and Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll’ – Ian Dury ‘David Watts’ – The Jam ‘Until the Night’ – Billy Joel ‘Rikki, Don’t Lose That Number’ – Steely Dan ‘Watching the Detectives’ – Elvis Costello ‘(I Am Always Touched by Your) Presence, Dear’ – Blondie ‘I Will Survive’ – Gloria Gaynor ‘Goodbye Girl’ – Squeeze ‘Make Me Smile (Come up and See Me)’ – Steve Harley ‘Girls Talk’ – Dave Edmunds ‘I Fought the Law’ – The Clash ‘Life in a Day’ – Simple Minds

The song was familiar. I’d heard it many times. It was “Lullaby” by Billy Joel. And I would bet any money he could play it splendidly on the piano, as well. A lump grew in my throat as he sang to his daughter. The love he had for her was evident, and it was a love I recognized. My own fathers love. It was a love that made men lay down his life to defend and protect. I thought of Liam standing in the way when someone tried to harm his daughter, his wife. Had he done as my father had? Did he fight off a man so out of his mind he would slash an innocent?

Our windows were open, and the radio had been playing continuously--not one but two Billy Joel songs had come on during our drive--and the air was dense with the humidity of a midwestern summer, weather that even then made me homesick, though it was hard to say for what. Maybe my homesickness was a form of prescience because when I look back, it's the circumstances of this very car ride that I recognize as irretrievable: the experience of driving nowhere in particular with my sister, both of us seventeen years old, the open windows causing our hair to blow wildly; that feeling of being unencumbered; that confidence that our futures would unfold the way we wanted them to and our real lives were just beginning.

People feel ashamed of being depressed, they feel they should snap out of it, they feel weak and inadequate. Of course, these feelings are symptoms of the disease. Depression is a grave and life-threatening illness, much more common than we recognize. As far as the depressive being weak or inadequate, let me drop some names of famous depressives: Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, Eleanor Roosevelt, Sigmund Freud. Terry Bradshaw, Drew Carey, Billy Joel, T. Boone Pickens, J. K. Rowling, Brooke Shields, Mike Wallace. Charles Dickens, Joseph Conrad, Graham Greene, Ernest Hemingway, Herman Melville, Mark Twain.

After a long moment Tommy said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I should say to Rachel.” “What have you come up with so far?” “I thought I’d tell her that even if everyone everywhere left everyone else forever, I’d still never leave her.” Patrick turned his nose up as if there was an unpleasant smell in the air. “No good?” “Tom, that’s awful. That’s like a line from a movie.” “I’ve got more. You’ve just got to let me get warmed up first. Here we go, how about this: You’ll always be the same old someone that I knew. Won’t you believe in me like I believe in you?” “What’s that from?” “It’s Billy Joel.” “Come on Tom, you’re a writer! Have you told her you love her?” “Not in so many words.” “It’s only three words Tom. And if you really mean them, they’re pretty darn good ones.

Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes....

I probably sound like sixteen going on clinically depressed,” says Billy now, “but my childhood hadn’t exactly been all noodle salad and laughs.

But Larson was also more than even his combined, prolific creative output. While he was known for leaving parties to go home and fix songs, he would also charm the ladies, attend New York’s most exclusive nightclub, and obsessively follow the New York Mets. He was the man who called his friends in the middle of the day to play Frisbee, sent cards on every possible occasion, and hosted generous holiday meals. An awkward introvert who wanted to be a star. A self-confident composer who knew how good his work was - and how terrified he was of never being able to make a living from it. A broke waiter who produced some of the most advanced demo recordings of his day. A ladies’ man who became one of the gay community’s most important straight allies in the 1990s, as his work spread a message of tolerance around the world. A man who composed fun, catchy songs but rarely listened to music for pleasure as an adult. A performer who wanted to be Billy Joel but wrote lyrics like Harry Chapin. A driven creative who took as few shifts as possible to focus on his music, turning poverty into creativity: a simple 4th of July party meant a hand-coloured collage for an invitation, and Larson’s annual Peasant Feast pot-luck meals at Christmas were the season’s highlight for all attending. A passionate progressive who would be endlessly disappointed that RENT could still cause controversy after so many years.

had a local FM station on, cranking out some Billy Joel and Harry Chapin, who the manic DJ kept informing his listening audience were Long Island boys. So were Joey Buttafuoco and the serial killer Joel Rifkin, but the DJ didn’t mention this.

Jealous—Labrinth when the party’s over—Billie Eilish White Rabbit—Jefferson Airplane Piano Man—Billy Joel Iris—The Goo Goo Dolls To Build a Home—The Cinematic Orchestra The Good Side—Troye Sivan Nevermind—Dennis Lloyd What It’s Like—Everlast Hi-Lo (Hollow)—Bishop Briggs bury a friend—Billie Eilish Sorry—Halsey

After that, every bit of research and every idea potentially relevant to the project went into Tharp’s box. Recordings of Billy Joel’s music videos, live performances, lectures, photographs, news clippings, song lists, and notes about those songs. She

She's the type of girl Billy Joel would write songs about.

Can Santa Muerte cry? Of course. Saints are, by nature, particularly lachrymal creatures—even Billy Joel knew that.

This story involves multiple Viking funerals, thousands of square feet of cardboard, and enough hot glue to supply your mother-in-law’s craft night for the rest of time—not to mention an in-depth analysis of which human names are appropriate for dogs, a metaphor about a trash compactor, and two separate stories about the same Billy Joel song.

Slow down you're doing fine You can't be everything you want to be before your time ... When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?

She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes —BILLY JOEL

Billy Joel was supposed to have a triumphant first on Sunday night, April 14. The Piano Man was headed to high time for his first- ever broadcast network performance special, The 100th Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden – The Greatest Arena Run of All Time, following fifty times in the music business. still, his broadcast was cut short by CBS. Why did CBS cut short Billy Joel’s broadcast? The event, which was supposed to state on CBS from 9 to 11p.m., was blazoned before this time’s Super Bowl and taped on March 28 during Joel’s 100th performance at the fabled New York City theatre. Unfortunately, the Joel musicale’s airing was delayed due to the network’s live content of the Masters golf event. As a result, numerous observers missed the show’s dramatic conclusion and were forced to switch to the original news.

You can get just so much from the good things. You can linger too long in your dreams. Say goodbye to the oldies but goodies. Cuz the good ol' days weren't always good. Tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems!

if you said goodbye to me tonight, there would still be music left to write...

If you are not doing what you love, you are wasting your time." Billy Joel

In one of the most scathing of these reviews, New York Times critic Robert Palmer wrote: “He has mastered the art of making lyrics that are banal—and, when they are about women, frequently condescending—sound vaguely important. He has mastered the art of making the simplest drum accent sound as portentous as a peal of thunder and of introducing his side-men’s solos with such dramatic flourishes that they almost sound like gifted, sensitive musicians rather than like the hacks they are. He has won a huge following by making emptiness seem substantial and Holiday Inn lounge schlock sound special.

all that got stolen was my Billy Joel CD!” “Piano Man?” Miss May asked. “The Stranger.” Miss May shook her head, “How could I forget. That’s even worse.

She nods. She’s looking through some old People magazines that she wants to sell for a dime apiece. “So, Billy Joel’s getting married to a fashion model,” she is saying, flipping pages. “What can you expect from a guy who writes ‘I don’t want clever conversation’ and calls that a love song.” Pretty soon Eleanor has lost it and is singing “I don’t want clever conversation, I just want gigundo buzooms.” “Kip loves Billy Joel,” she adds. “The man’s got the taste of a can opener.” It’s every man for himself out here. I

For we are always what our situations hand us: it’s either sadness or euphoria.

Out of respect for things that I was never destined to do, I have learned that my strengths are a result of my weaknesses, my success is due to my failures and my style is directly related to my limitations

The sinners are much more fun.

At the same time High Society was still buzzing about her impromptu performance on the stage of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden with the ballet star Wayne Sleep. They had secretly choreographed a routine to Billy Joel’s song “Uptown Girl” using her drawing-room at Kensington Palace as their rehearsal studio. Prince Charles watched the Gala performance from the royal box oblivious to his wife’s plan. Two numbers before the end she left his side and changed into a silver silk dress before Wayne beckoned her on stage. The audience let out a collective gasp of astonishment as they went through their routine. They took eight curtain calls, Diana even dropping a curtsey to the royal box.

Traditional statements extol singing, dancing, and playing musical instruments. Pianist, singer-songwriter, and composer Billy Joel said music is an ‘explosive expression of humanity.’ Music soothes the agitations of the soul; it wipes away sorrows, and allows people to escape from themselves. Milan Kundera in his 1984 novel ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being,’ noted that music is a powerful liberating force:’ it liberated him from loneliness, introversion, the dust of the library; it opened the door of his body and allowed his soul to step out into the world and make friends.’ When the world proves too harsh for people music becomes their refuge, they turn their backs to sadness and loneliness, and seek solitude in the space of music.

the survivors got a bit hardier. Kotter was like an inoculation that toughened everyone up for Olivia Newton-John, who in turn prepared the cosmos for Billy Joel. So as the music got marginally less awful, the mortality rate paradoxically dropped. And by the time they started exploring the FM frequencies, most Refined beings were ready for what they found. By then it was mid-1978. The FM dial was jammed with what we now call Classic Rock, and some stations occasionally played entire albums from start to finish. The last big die-off occurred when WPLJ broadcast both sides of Led Zeppelin IV. And anyone who survived that had what it took to safely listen to even the most stellar rock ’n’ roll.

Dane and Marco and the boys all fled the stage but I was still playing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’. I tried different interesting arrangments. Mozart’s twelve variations and Elton John style. Even Billy Joel/‘Piano Man’-ish. Then I had a brainstorm and thumped it out like Jerry Lee Lewis, with my feet on the keys and everything, and that seemed to confuse the guy waving the gun. Anyway he didn’t shot me. By now I was really getting into ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’, actually getting the old flash while I played it over and over, I don’t know how many times, and I sort of hypnotised myself. I was in a trance. People had thrown every available bottle and can and busted seat at me. Now they started on the fire extinguishers, and they were frothing and spurting and rolling around on the stage. Even the over-roided security joined in, and the bouncers were throwing stuff at me, too. I didn’t care. I was in a daze. I felt bulletproof and above it all, and when I eventually finished I stood in front of the redwood crucifix with my arms out, covered in fire-extinguisher foam like a snowman, and bowed to the audience. And then for some insane reason I pushed over the crucifix, which was difficult because it was heavy and splintery, and it cut my hands so I was bleeding everywhere, and I deliberately rubbed the blood all over my face. Then I put my foot on the crucifix, like a big-game hunter with his kill, like Ernest Hemingway with a dead lion, and raised my bloody fist in victory. And there was a sort of roar then, a deep roar lie a squadron of B-47s. And I passed out on the stage. I came to with someone furiously screaming. An amazing octave range, about five – from an F1 to B flat 6. It was your mother standing over me like a tigress, waving a broken seat, and preventing the Texans from rushing the stage and stomping me to death, they were wary of this wild, high-pitched little chick and backed off. As I stumbled back to the dressing-room, Tania was yelling that she wished the oil-rig guy had shot me, and this was the end, she’d really had it. And the record-company people were just staring at me open-mouthed like I was a lunatic. And outside, our tour bus had been set on fire, and there were no extinguishers left, and the police and fire brigade got involved, on the side of the Texans, and there was suddenly a visa problem. So that was it for Spider Flower in America. And for your mother and me, as it turned out.

Like a boxer in a title fight, you have to walk in that ring alone.

I think music in itself is healing. It’s an explosive expression of humanity. It’s something we are all touched by. No matter what culture we’re from, everyone loves music.