Rod Stewart Quotes

Instead of getting married again, I'm going to find a woman I don't like and just give her a house.

Someone like you makes it hard to live without somebody else

I think of you when I hear Rod Stewart's Face's album. Maggie May in particular. Everyone has a song, you have an album.

You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?" Seeing someone else? How on earth could that explain any of this? Why would seeing someone else necessitate bringing home a middle­-aged woman, a teenaged punk and an American with a leather jacket and a Rod Stewart haircut? What would the story have been? But then, after reflection, I realised that Penny had probably been here before, and therefore knew that infidelity can usually provide the answer to any domestic mystery. If I had walked in with Sheena Easton and Donald Rumsfeld, Penny would probably have scratched her head for a few seconds before saying exactly the same thing. In other circumstances, on other evenings, it would have been the right conclusion, too; I used to be pretty resourceful when I was being unfaithful to Cindy, even if I do say so myself. I once drove a new BMW into a wall, simply because I needed to explain a four­-hour delay in getting home from work. Cindy came out into the street to inspect the crumpled bonnet, looked at me, and said, “You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?” I denied it, of course. But then, anything – smashing up a new car, persuading Donald Rumsfeld to come to an Islington flat in the early hours of New Year’s Day – is easier than actually telling the truth. That look you get, the look which lets you see right through the eyes and down into the place where she keeps all the hurt and the rage and the loathing... Who wouldn’t go that extra yard to avoid it?

My love for you is immeasurable My respect for you immense You're ageless, timeless, lace and fineness You're beauty and elegance You're a rhapsody, a comedy You're a symphony and a play You're every love song ever written But honey what do you see in me? You're in my heart, you're in my soul You'll be my breath should I grow old You are my lover, you're my best friend You're in my soul

A set list? Set lists were for wimps. Wimps and professionals. Better to just get out there and communicate the set by shouting the old Faces' battle cry: "What number are we doing?

His mouth claimed hers again, hotly and hungrily. It drew breath from her. As he kissed her, his hand moved to the front of her slacks. He fumbled with the button and zipper until they were undone. When his hand slid into the elastic waistband of her panties, Rusty gasped. She had thought there would be a sensual buildup, a flirtatious progression, extended foreplay. She didn't regret that there wouldn't be. His boldness, his impatience, was a powerful aphrodisiac. It set off explosions of desire deep within her. She tilted her hips forward and filled his palm with her softness. He muttered swearwords that were in themselves arousing because they explicitly expressed the height of his arousal. Like a Rod Stewart song, they were viscerally sexy, one couldn't hear them without thinking of a male and a female mating.

May the good Lord be with you down every road you roam, and may sunshine and happiness surround you when you're far from home. And may you grow to be proud, dignified and true; and do unto others as you'd have done to you. Be courageous and be brave and in my heart you'll always stay forever young. May good fortune be with you, may your guiding light be strong; build a stairway to heaven with a prince or a vagabond. And may you never love in vain and in my heart you will remain forever young. And when you finally fly away I'll be hoping that I served you well, for all the wisdom of a lifetime no one can ever tell. But whatever road you choose, I'm right behind you, win or lose, forever young.

..the power outage caused the stage manager to drop the curtain - much to the surprise of Ronnie Wood, who was standing directly underneath it at the time and was almost killed by about half a ton of falling velvet (because, let me tell you, in those days a curtain was a curtain.) It was while we were backstage, getting the power restored, that I noticed I had spent the entire opening number with my flies undone.

And this is always the moment, with my feet outstretched as the plane picks up speed and lifts off the runway,

Not long after I learned about Frozen, I went to see a friend of mine who works in the music industry. We sat in his living room on the Upper East Side, facing each other in easy chairs, as he worked his way through a mountain of CDs. He played “Angel,” by the reggae singer Shaggy, and then “The Joker,” by the Steve Miller Band, and told me to listen very carefully to the similarity in bass lines. He played Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” and then Muddy Waters’s “You Need Love,” to show the extent to which Led Zeppelin had mined the blues for inspiration. He played “Twice My Age,” by Shabba Ranks and Krystal, and then the saccharine ’70s pop standard “Seasons in the Sun,” until I could hear the echoes of the second song in the first. He played “Last Christmas,” by Wham! followed by Barry Manilow’s “Can’t Smile Without You” to explain why Manilow might have been startled when he first heard that song, and then “Joanna,” by Kool and the Gang, because, in a different way, “Last Christmas” was an homage to Kool and the Gang as well. “That sound you hear in Nirvana,” my friend said at one point, “that soft and then loud kind of exploding thing, a lot of that was inspired by the Pixies. Yet Kurt Cobain” — Nirvana’s lead singer and songwriter — “was such a genius that he managed to make it his own. And ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’?” — here he was referring to perhaps the best-known Nirvana song. “That’s Boston’s ‘More Than a Feeling.’ ” He began to hum the riff of the Boston hit, and said, “The first time I heard ‘Teen Spirit,’ I said, ‘That guitar lick is from “More Than a Feeling.” ’ But it was different — it was urgent and brilliant and new.” He played another CD. It was Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy,” a huge hit from the 1970s. The chorus has a distinctive, catchy hook — the kind of tune that millions of Americans probably hummed in the shower the year it came out. Then he put on “Taj Mahal,” by the Brazilian artist Jorge Ben Jor, which was recorded several years before the Rod Stewart song. In his twenties, my friend was a DJ at various downtown clubs, and at some point he’d become interested in world music. “I caught it back then,” he said. A small, sly smile spread across his face. The opening bars of “Taj Mahal” were very South American, a world away from what we had just listened to. And then I heard it. It was so obvious and unambiguous that I laughed out loud; virtually note for note, it was the hook from “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.” It was possible that Rod Stewart had independently come up with that riff, because resemblance is not proof of influence. It was also possible that he’d been in Brazil, listened to some local music, and liked what he heard.

I went to that show, although I remember very little about it. History relates, though, that also in the audience that night was Ian McLagan, later the keyboard player with the Faces, and that the support act was a band called Jeff Beck and the Tridents. But that’s how tight it all seemed to be in those days: at any time, almost everyone who would later matter would be standing around in the same place. One unfortunate gas explosion under the wrong club on the wrong night, and three-quarters of the history of British rock music would have been taken out in one go.

Pretend mic in hand, she danced into the bedroom, singing Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy." She executed a few dance steps she'd read about in books on modern dance. Losing herself to the groove of the music, she swayed and gyrated as she belted out the lyrics. She toed off her shoes and shimmied out of her jeans, bending to slip them over her feet... "I'm thinking this is a sight and a sound I could get used to.

Young Turks Billy left his home with a dollar in his pocket and a head full of dreams. He said somehow, some way, it's gotta get better than this. Patti packed her bags, left a note for her momma, she was just seventeen, there were tears in her eyes when she kissed her little sister goodbye. They held each other tight as they drove on through the night they were so exited. We got just one shot of life, let's take it while we're still not afraid. Because life is so brief and time is a thief when you're undecided. And like a fistful of sand, it can slip right through your hands. Young hearts be free tonight. Time is on your side, Don't let them put you down, don't let 'em push you around, don't let 'em ever change your point of view. Paradise was closed so they headed for the coast in a blissful manner. They took a tworoom apartment that was jumping ev'ry night of the week. Happiness was found in each other's arms as expected, yeah Billy pierced his ears, drove a pickup like a lunatic, ooh! Young hearts be free tonight.Time is on your side, Don't let them put you down, don't let 'em push you around, don't let 'em ever change your point of view. Young hearts be free tonight.Time is on your side. Billy wrote a letter back home to Patti's parents tryin' to explain. He said we're both real sorry that it had to turn out this way. But there ain't no point in talking when there's nobody list'ning so we just ran away Patti gave birth to a ten pound baby boy, yeah! Young hearts be free tonight, time is on your side. Young hearts be free tonight, time is on your side. Young hearts be free tonight, time in on your side. Young hearts gotta run free, be free, live free Time is on, time is on your side Time, time, time, time is on your side is on your side is on your side is on your side Young heart be free tonight tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, yeah

While reading some old articles to jog my memory for this book, I came across an article in the Chicago Sun-Times by Rick Kogan, a reporter who traveled with Styx for a few concert dates in 1979. I remember him. When we played the Long Beach Civic Center’s 12,000-seat sports arena in California, he rode in the car with JY and me as we approached the stadium. His recounting of the scene made me smile. It’s also a great snapshot of what life was like for us back in the day. The article from 1980 was called, “The Band That Styx It To ‘Em.” Here’s what he wrote: “At once, a sleek, gray Cadillac limousine glides toward the back stage area. Small groups of girls rush from under trees and other hiding places like a pack of lions attacking an antelope. They bang on the windows, try to halt the driver’s progress by standing in front of the car. They are a desperate bunch. Rain soaks their makeup and ruins their clothes. Some are crying. “Tommy, Tommmmmmmmmy! I love you!” one girl yells as she bangs against the limousine’s window. Inside the gray limousine, James Young, the tall, blond guitarist for Styx who likes to be called J.Y. looks out the window. “It sure is raining,” he says. Next to him, bass player Chuck Panozzo, finishing the last part of a cover story on Styx in a recent issue of Record World magazine, nods his head in agreement. Then he chuckles, and says, “They think you’re Tommy.” “I’m not Tommy Shaw,” J.Y. screams. “I’m Rod Stewart.” “Tommy, Tommmmmmmmmy! I love you! I love you!” the girl persists, now trying desperately to jump on the hood of the slippery auto. “Oh brother,” sighs J.Y. And the limousine rolls through the now fully raised backstage door and he hurries to get out and head for the dressing room. This scene is repeated twice, as two more limousines make their way into the stadium, five and ten minutes later. The second car carries young guitarist Tommy Shaw, drummer John Panozzo and his wife Debbie. The groupies muster their greatest energy for this car. As the youngest member of Styx and because of his good looks and flowing blond hair, Tommy Shaw is extremely popular with young girls. Some of his fans are now demonstrating their affection by covering his car with their bodies. John and Debbie Panozzo pay no attention to the frenzy. Tommy Shaw merely smiles, and shortly all of them are inside the sports arena dressing room. By the time the last and final car appears, spectacularly black in the California rain, the groupies’ enthusiasm has waned. Most of them have started tiptoeing through the puddles back to their hiding places to regroup for the band’s departure in a couple of hours.” Tommy

2007 Wall Street Journal profile also described how, at one of Schwarzman’s five houses, an “11,000-square-foot home in Palm Beach, Fla., he complained to Jean-Pierre Zeugin, his executive chef and estate manager, that an employee wasn’t wearing the proper black shoes with his uniform…[H]e found the squeak of the rubber soles distracting.” His own mother told the paper that money is “what drives him. Money is the measuring stick.” Schwarzman’s most serious self-inflicted wound, though, was the $3 million sixtieth birthday party he threw for himself in February 2007, at which he paid pop stars Rod Stewart and Patti LaBelle to serenade him. The media sensation stirred by the billionaire bacchanal led directly to congressional calls to close the carried-interest loophole.

Make the best out of a bad joke and laugh it off..

Don't bury me here, its too cold...

In love or pain, in joy and sadness, in loss and achievement, a Traveller along the Entertainment Leys joining these domains, these zones and points of sympathy, will therefore never ever be alone. Rod Stewart's cousin might be near, or Elton John's grandfather might have died just up the road. Be it suffering or transcendent joy, an Entertainment Traveller is held in an intercontinental web of healing glory which doesn't cost a penny, and has absolutely no concern for your previous moral life. Entertainment Priests are not deeply troubled men in nightshirts, most of whom have so many psychological problems before breakfast their personal depression nearly kills them promoting the comedown, the comeback, the punishment, the price to be paid at the toll gates of both sides of the schism. If the new Entertainment Priests are not fun, there is an absolute lock on their spiritual progress. They have to be Entertainers first and foremost, and they are to cast out of the temple the depressing landscape of fear and guilt and horrorof the Old Analogue Age, which was the pre-Entertainment Time. As Entertainment Citizens we will come to see that this past was a bleak landscape in which everything was poisoned, gassed, and strangled. It was a psychopath's world of tortured animals and old iron of industrial and scientific determinism. Now, like a billion-ton ice-pack, this spiritual hell is beginning a perceptible shift of paradigm into a landscape of purest Entertainment Legend.

As he started the engine and pulled out on to Downchurch Road, strains of Rod Stewart drifted from the open window of the house, and he pictured Karen swaying to the music behind the hull-shaped bar, drunk and alone, the zip on her onesie fighting a losing battle.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Often the question of which books were used for research in the Merry series is asked. So, here is a list (in no particular order). While not comprehensive, it contains the major sources. An Encyclopedia of Faeries by Katharine Briggs Faeries by Brian Froud and Alan Lee Dictionary of Celtic Myth and Legend by Miranda J. Green Celtic Goddesses by Miranda J. Green Dictionary of Celtic Mythology by Peter Berresford Ellis Goddesses in World Mythology by Martha Ann and Dorothy Myers Imel A Witches’ Bible by Janet and Stewart Farrar The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries by W. Y. Evans-Wentz Pagan Celtic Britain by Anne Ross The Ancient British Goddesses by Kathy Jones Fairy Tradition in Britain by Lewis Spense One Hundred Old Roses for the American Garden by Clair G. Martin Taylor’s Guide to Roses Pendragon by Steve Blake and Scott Lloyd Kings and Queens from Collins Gem Butterflies of Europe: A Princeton Guide by Tom Tolman and Richard Lewington Butterflies and Moths of Missouri by J. Richard and Joan E. Heitzman Dorling Kindersly Handbook: Butterflies and Moths by David Carter The Natural World of Bugs and Insects by Ken and Rod Preston Mafham Big Cats: Kingdom of Might by Tom Brakefield Just Cats by Karen Anderson Wild Cats of the World by Art Wolfe and Barbara Sleeper Beauty and the Beast translated by Jack Zipes The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm translated by Jack Zipes Grimms’ Tales for Young and Old by Ralph Manheim Complete Guide to Cats by the ASPCA Field Guide to Insects and Spiders from the National Audubon Society Mammals of Europe by David W. MacDonald Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner by Scott Cunningham Northern Mysteries and Magick by Freya Aswym Cabbages and Kings by Jonathan Roberts Gaelic: A Complete Guide for Beginners The Norse Myths by Kevin Crossley Holland The Penguin Companion to Food by Alan Davidson

My Heart Can't Tell Me No" I don't want you to come 'round here no more I beg you for mercy You don't know how strong my weakness is Or how much it hurts me 'Cause when you say it's over with him I want to believe it's true So I let you in knowing tomorrow I'm gonna wake up missing you Wake up missing you When the one you love is in love with someone else Don't you know it's torture I mean it's a living hell No matter how I try to convince myself This time I won't lose control But one look in your blue eyes and suddenly My heart can't tell you no I don't want you to call me up no more Saying you need me You're crazy if you think just half your love Could ever please me Still I want to hold you, touch you When you look at me that way There's only one solution, I know it You gotta stay away from me Stay away from me When the one you love is in love with someone else Don't you know it's torture I mean it's a living hell No matter how I try to convince myself This time I won't lose control One look in your sad eyes And suddenly my heart can't tell you no My heart can't tell you no I don't want you to come 'round here no more I beg you for mercy You don't know how strong my weakness is Or how much it hurts me 'Cause when you say it's over with him I want to believe it's true So I let you in knowing tomorrow I'm gonna wake up missing you Wake up missing you When the one you love is in love with someone else Don't you know it's torture I mean it's a living hell When the one you love is in love with someone else Don't you know it's torture I mean it's a living hell Living hell Rod Stewart, Out Or Order (1988)

One of its greatest attributes was the night manager, Steve Rowland. Steve became like an extra wheel in our touring party due not only to his sublime affability, but his prowess in making over-padded bills go away and seeing that anyone in our tribe knew how to find anyone else at any given time. This latter quality got him christened “Reuters” by Elton, a man who felt everyone needed a sobriquet. Rod Stewart was Phyllis, Freddie Mercury was Melina as in Mercouri, and I for unknown reasons was briefly christened Mavis!

Bad 'N' Ruin" Mother, don't you recognize your son? Coming home, 'cause I failed you Mother I'll be there in the morning If you'll have me back The rent up here is much too high For a room without a tap I'll be early in the morning And I'll find my way back home Back home bad 'n' ruin With my tail between my legs Tail between my legs And I'll be so tired I'll be early tomorrow morning And I'll fall down off my plane Don't be embarrassed mother By your ugly worn-out son Your ugly worn-out son. Mother, you won't recognize me now Mother, you won't recognize me now Mother, you won't recognize me now And I'll be down on Cannon Street Passport in my hand Should you not recognize me I've heavily made-up my eyes Momma, you won't recognize me now Brother, you won't recognize me now Sister, you won't recognize me now Mother, you won't recognize me now So mother when you've seen me Don't forget I'm your boy too I know my brother has done you proud He's one foot in the grave Mother don't you recognize me now? I'm a burglar in the first degree But it don't seem to worry me I'll be so tired, so tired I'll be so tired, so tired Rod Steward & Faces, Long Player (1971)

Life will never be as it was before your accident, and this is not easy for you or anyone else in our situation to accept. Then again, it's not easy for me to accept that Rod Stewart has sold over a hundred million records, but there it is.

You're in my heart, you're in my soul You'll be my breath should I grow old You are my lover, you're my best friend You're in my soul #QuotesILikebyDKC

You're in my heart, you're in my soul You'll be my breath should I grow old You are my lover, you're my best friend You're in my soul

I'd rather lose both my eyes than see you walk away from me, girl.

The Netherlands, Eindhoven, April 24, 2018, C. van de Kerkhof, MeisterSinger Neo Q, Rod Stewart - The First Cut Is The Deepest, Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans!!!

girl had allowed me to touch one of her breasts outside the Odeon cinema in Finchley – a fantastic breakthrough. Only one breast, mind. If I had touched both, we would have had to get married. Later, a different girl let me touch the promised land, a reward which brought me enormous pride and a refusal to wash the honoured hand for several days. And after that, with a third girl, I made the enormous tactical error of going to second base straight away, without going via first, and was sternly reprimanded: ‘Tits first, please!

Sheriff Joe Arpaio, an anti-immigration figure and Trump supporter, got a pardon. So did Scooter Libby, the Bush administration leaker whom President Bush, a frequent target of Trump derision, had failed to pardon, and so did Dinesh D’Souza, the right-wing author. Martha Stewart was a possibility. So was the corrupt former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich, who was brazen and overweening

When the rain came I thought you'd leave 'cause I knew how much you loved the sun But you chose to stay, stay and keep me warm through the darkest nights I've ever known If the mandolin wind couldn't change a thing then I know I love ya

Pop art from the sixties lingered on as a movement, mutating and becoming more ironic as it drifted further from its origins. Compared to some of the dour work of the conceptualists and minimalists, one felt that at least these artists had a sense of fun. Warhol, Rauschenberg, Rosenquist, Lichtenstein, and their kin were about embracing, in a peculiar, ironic way, a world with which we were familiar. They accepted that pop culture was the water in which we all swam. I think I can speak for a lot of the musicians in New York at that time and say that we genuinely liked a lot of pop culture, and that we appreciated workmanlike song craft. Talking Heads did covers of 1910 Fruitgum Company and the Troggs, and Patti Smith famously reworked the über-primitive song “Gloria” as well as the soul song “Land of 1,000 Dances.” Of course, our cover tunes were very different from those we would have been expected to play if we had been a bar band that played covers. That would have meant Fleetwood Mac, Rod Stewart, Donny & Marie, Heart, ELO, or Bob Seger. Don’t get me wrong, some of them had some great songs, but they sure weren’t singing about the world as we were experiencing it. The earlier, more primitive pop hits we’d first heard on the radio as suburban children now seemed like diamonds in the rough to us. To cover those songs was to establish a link between one’s earliest experience of pop music and one’s present ambitions—to revive that innocent excitement and meaning.