Willie Nelson Quotes

The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

There are more old drunks than there are old doctors.

Ninety-nine percent of the world's lovers are not with their first choice. That's what makes the jukebox play.

A prosthetic leg with a Willie Nelson bumper sticker washed ashore on the beach, which meant it was Florida. Then it got weird.

If you’re not crazy there’s something wrong with you. Willie Nelson

God has blessed you richly, so get down on your knees and thank him. Don’t forget the less fortunate or God will personally kick your ass. I’d love to do it for him, but I can’t be everywhere.

You will never find happiness until you stop looking for it.

You'll never get ahead by blaming your problems on other people.

...when you put your life in a good place, good things follow.

I got along without you before I met you and I'll get along without you a long time after you're gone.

When I started counting my blessings, my whole life turned around.

I don't remember Moses writing, 'Thou shalt not kill.. unless you think you have a good reason.

Let the jerks of the world serve as the perfect example of what you don't want to be. You'll be a heck of a lot happier, and in the long run, there's a chance that other person at work will end up asking what your secret is. Why are you the happy one? In other words, don't let your thoughts think you. Besides, if you're really gonna get pissed, don't waste it on your family, friends, or coworkers, save it for something that really matters.

If you've made your own hell, then only you have the power to escape it.

Be here. Be present. Wherever you are, be there.

You will never find love until you stop looking.

Gay or straight? So what? It doesn't matter to me. We have to be concerned about other people regardless.

There is no such thing as a normal person. There is just you and me." - Willie Nelson

As adults we try to relax from the never-ending quest for reason and order by drinking a little whiskey or smoking whatever works for us, but the wisdom isn't in the whiskey or the smoke. The wisdom is in the moments when the madness slips away and we remember the basics.

Once you replace negative thoughts with positive ones, you'll start having positive results.

I don’t believe in adhering to any rules I don’t support and I didn’t vote for. To hell with what people think. Just be who you are and you’ll be happy.

Fortunately, we are not in control.

Memories remind us that every moment of our lives, even the most tragic, have contributed to our strength. We’ve gotten through. We’re still here.

Once you replace negative thoughts with positive ones, you'll start having positive results.

I believe in looseness.

When I started counting my blessings, my whole life turned around.” Willie Nelson (B. 1933) SINGER-SONGWRITER

A lot of people make money off of fear and negativity and any way they can feed it to you is to their benefit in a lot of ways. You can't avoid it completely; you have to be open enough that shit doesn't stick on you, it goes through, because you are gonna be hit and bombarded all the time with negativity... You just let things go on through without trying to stop them or block them.

Sometimes I fantasize about the US head of state as a super-lazy, super-moral libertarian despot and think, “That would certainly make everything easier,” even though I can’t think of one person who’d qualify, except maybe Willie Nelson.

And when I die, put it on my stone. God said, Sucker get your bad ass home. I wasn't Superman. I wasn't Superman

Willie Nelson once said that sometimes, you have to either write a song or you kick your foot through a window. The third option , I suppose , is that you write a book.

I was in the Air Force a while and they had what they call "policing the area." That's where you looked around and if there's anything wrong here, there, anywhere, you took care of your own area. And I think that's a pretty good thing to go by. If everyone just takes care of their own area then we won't have any problems. Be here. Be present. Wherever you are, be there. And look around you and see what needs to be changed.

I think it is just terrible and disgusting how everyone has treated Lance Armstrong, especially after what he achieved, winning seven Tour de France races while on drugs. When I was on drugs, I couldn’t even find my bike.

In April 1933, Willie's mother, Myrle, gave birth to him in a manger somewhere along the old highway between Waco & Dallas. There were angels in attendance that night. Some of them, no doubt, flying too close to the ground:

Anybody can be unhappy. We can all be hurt. You don't have to be poor to need something or somebody. Rednecks, hippies, misfits - we're all the same. Gay or straight? So what? It doesn't matter to me. We have to be concerned about other people, regardless.

Life and water are inseparable. Three quarters of the earth's surface is covered by water, just as three quarters of your body is made up of water. Even in the driest desert where rain may come just once every few years, the cycles of life are based on waiting for the arrival of water. Our bodies are not so patient. Every cell in your body needs water to survive, and that means that drinking plenty of clean, fresh water can make you stronger healthier and smarter. Water carries oxygen and fuel to your cells, lubricates your joints, regulates your body temperature, and plays a key roll in just about every function of your body. My number one roadie, POODIE, says, "You can't make a turd without grease.

If you really want to get along with somebody, let them be themselves.

When it’s on us, seems like the storm will never pass. But it always does.

So if I’m not normal and you’re not normal and they’re not normal—why in the blue blazes do we all spend so much time pretending we are?

It's easy to be overwhelmed by our desires for material things, but the fact is, most of us know what we truly value. Sometimes we just need a little reminder.

The kitten I got is black and white and has long hair. Really long hair (think Willie Nelson). I decided to call him Cap’n because his markings make him look like a pirate. The majority of his face is white, except over his left eye is a black patch of fur, like an eye patch, and under his chin he has black hair that’s long and comes to a point like a goatee. Also, when I got him he had a parrot on his shoulder and a wooden leg.

Cause one way or the other,” I said, rolling a fat one, “it’s all gonna work out.” “And what makes you so goddamn sure?” I took a hit and held it in. When I exhaled, I said, slowly but deliberately, “It’s a matter of faith, Waylon. And I got enough faith to last me this lifetime and whatever lifetimes come next.

Deep breathing at an open window is a wonderful thing unless you live in Los Angeles or down the block from an asbestos plant. Everybody knows that filling your lungs with oxygen is good, but not many people do it. It’s like most of the choices you have in life. You know inside what is right. Whether you do it is up to you.

Positive thoughts lead to positive actions.

Truth be told, these fuckers don't know their elbows from their assholes.

You know inside whether it’s right. But you still have to choose to do it.

I am the only person who can set me free from what might have been.

You, sir, are as twisted as a twelve-string banjo. —Willie Nelson to Sheriff Preston Bank

I fly a star ship across the universe divide and when I reach the other side; I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can. Perhaps, I may become a highwayman again or I may simply be a single drop of rain but I will remain and I'll be back again and again and again and again and again and again.

Next to his pecker, a picker’s fingers are his most precious body parts.

Do Right Woman, Do Right Man.” I sang it nice and slow

If at first you don’t succeed…fuck it!

Be gentle with your words - you can’t take them back.” #quotesilikebydkc

The older I get, the more I realize it’s never too early to start appreciating the people in your life. If you love your family, it’s essential that you tell them. They need you and you need them. If you can make someone feel better with just a few words, why wouldn’t you want to use them? Speaking for fathers everywhere, this is the best I can offer. Go hug your daddy. It ain’t too late to save him.

Two hours ago I took a break from writing this to take a walk before the sun went down. I had an urge to play Willie Nelson's "Crazy" on the Red Hot Country CD before going out, but didn't. When I turned the bend on 49th Terrace, my usual walk, Crazy sung by Patsy Cline was pouring, I mean POURING, out the windows of a house. I leaned back against a fence across the street and watched the house lift off. An operatic, cinematic moment, everything locked into a single frame that gets you high. Like You I'm Trapped.

Get in there. Sing the song. Get out. I’m not big on a hundred takes and a thousand overdubs. My kind of singing isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s meant to reflect the imperfections of a human being like me. After a couple of takes, that reflection is pretty accurate.

As adults we try to relax from the never-ending quest for reason and order by drinking a little whiskey or smoking whatever works for us, but the wisdom isn't in the whiskey or the smoke. The wisdom is in the moments when the madness slips away and we remember the basics.

Without the words there ain't no song!

That's the moment I saw my home in his eyes. Maybe it was just a shared moment of smart-assedness.

Surely, only a lunatic would walk off a cliff, drink cyanide, fire a loaded gun at his head, or walk into a Texas country & western bar with a T-shirt reading “Willie Nelson Sucks

found a registered two-thousand-pound prize Seminole bull with a note that said, “Here’s that calf I owe you.” Faron took the bull out to pasture, where he and his partner Jimmy C. Newman, a star of the Grand Ole Opry, used it for breeding for years. Tootsie’s was the launching pad for all kinds of grand connections. One night I spotted Charlie Dick. He was Patsy Cline’s husband and manager. I had with me a copy of “Night Life” that I’d cut with Paul Buskirk in

pick up Trigger and see where this new

It ain't my idea to leave before dawn. My ole lady decided to visit Nana, that's why the house stinks of hairspray. You know why she's leaving early: so nobody sees her scurry through town on foot. All she wants is for them to see her arrived, all hunky-dory. Not scurrying. It's a learning I made since the car went. 'Well I just can't believe there isn't a pair of Tumbledowns around town, I mean, I'll have to try down by Nana's.' She gives off breathy noises, and flicks her fingertips through my hair. Then she takes a step back and frowns. It means goodbye. 'Promise me you won't miss your therapy.' An electric purple sky spills stars behind the pumpjack, calling home the last moths for the night. It reminds me of the morning when ole Mrs Lechuga was out here, all devastated. I try not to think about it. Instead I look ahead to today. Going to Keeter's is a smart idea; if anybody sees me out there, they'll say, 'We saw Vernon out by Keeter's,' and nobody will know if they mean the auto shop, or the piece of land. See? Vernon Gray-matter Little. In return, I've asked Fate to help me solve the cash thing. It's become clear that cash is the only way to deal with problems in life. I even scraped up a few things to pawn in town, if it comes to that. I know it'll come to that, so I have them with me in my pack – my clarinet, my skateboard, and fourteen music discs. They're in the pack with my lunchbox, which contains my sandwich, the two joints, and a piece of paper with some internet addresses on it. As for the joints and the piece of paper, I heard the voice of Jesus last night. He advised me to get wasted, fast. If at first you don't succeed, he said, get wasted off your fucken ass. My plan is to sit out at Keeter's and get some new ideas, ideas borne out of the bravery of wastedness. I ride down empty roads of frosted silver, trees overhead swish cool hints of warm panties in bedclothes. Liberty Drive is naked, save for droppings of hay, and Bar-B-Chew Barn wrappers. In this light you can't see the stains on the sidewalk by the school. As the gym building passes by, all hulky and black, I look the other way, and think of other things. Music's a crazy thing, when you think about it. Interesting how I decided which discs not to pawn. I could've kept some party music, but that would've just tried to boost me up, all this thin kind of 'Tss-tss-tss,' music. You get all boosted up, convinced you're going to win in life, then the song's over and you discover you fucken lost. That's why you end up playing those songs over and over, in case you didn't know. Cream pie, boy. I could've kept back some heavy metal too, but that's likely to drive me to fucken suicide. What I need is some Eminem, some angry poetry, but you can't buy that stuff in Martirio. Like it was an animal sex doll or something, you can't buy angry poetry. When you say gangsta around here, they still think of Bonnie & fucken Clyde. Nah, guess what: I ended up keeping my ole Country albums. Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Johnny Paycheck – even my daddy's ole Hank Williams compilation. I kept them because those boys have seen some shit – hell, all they sing about is the shit they've seen; you just know they woke up plenty of times on a wooden floor somewhere, with ninety flavors of trouble riding on their ass. The slide-guitar understands your trouble. Then all you need is the beer.

What’s the worst thing you can hear while you’re blowing Willie Nelson? “I’m not really Willie Nelson.

We on the coast, Zeke?” I asked. “Afraid not, Willie,” he said. “Where are we?” “Weatherford, Texas.” Weatherford is barely twenty-five miles west of Fort Worth.

Bottom line is that I’ve seen some progress in my time. Not long ago millions of gay folks were hiding in the closet and living in fear. Now they’re free to come out, create their own path, and even marry. That’s a beautiful thing. I’m not saying things are perfect, but I am saying they’re better than when I was coming up. I still see the need to protest, especially on behalf of the small farmer and especially on behalf of our environment. If we fuck up this planet any more, we fuck up the future of our kids and grandkids. Global warming is serious as sin. I’ll play just about any damn benefit where the money goes to protecting our earth, water, and sky. I still believe in taking strong stands.

Not many musicians can get 10000 people to show up and help pay his back taxes, and when farmers are going broke and transatlantic pipelines need to be stopped and towns are blown up in fertilizer explosions or schools for impaired children need to be built, Willie shows up. Does the show for free. For three hours. Everyone has a good time, and somewhere, Bono squirms just a little bit on that self-righteous cross he's nailed himself to.

Cash’s reputation as a maverick who’d done jail time, and the El Paso drug bust, too, strengthened his link to rock ’n’ roll; it was his music as well as his image that paved the way for the country-rock coalition that Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings would tap into with their outlaw movement in the late 1970s.

I think I need to keep being creative not to prove anything but because it makes me happy just to do it... I think trying to be creative, keeping busy, has a lot to do with keeping you alive.

If you can be content right now, then you’ll always be content, because it’s always right now. —Willie Nelson

The Tom Waits song. Joy Division, ‘She’s Lost Control.’ Willie Nelson’s ‘The Gambler’—” “The fucking fuck you say. Bite your tongue till it bleeds, strumpet.” Pete froze in place, hands up in the air like he was beseeching an angry god. “ ‘The Gambler,’ I’ll have you know, is Kenny Rogers. Every father knows the lyrics to that song. It’s given to them by an angel upon the birth of their first child.

When I say that you can hear God in ‘One Man Guy’ by Rufus Wainwright, I do not mean to suggest that there is an old chap with a beard – a divine Willie Nelson, if you will – warbling along with them.

Some people say I sing behind the beat, but I'm in front of it sometimes too. I know where I am, and that's where I want to be.

Willie Nelson? Like, that bearded-ass hippie-ass dude who’s so high all the time that when he dies you could cremate him and smoke his ashes?

Family. Family said it all. Fifty years later, the name’s the same. Family is the currency that never devalues. Family is beyond value. The priceless thing that enriches our lives and our work.

Whenever appropriate, we joined in the performances, often dancing together and especially enjoying the practice sessions before the formal events. I sang “Salt Peanuts” with Dizzy Gillespie and joined Willie Nelson in either “Georgia on My Mind” or “Amazing Grace.” (He turned the microphone as much as possible toward himself.) I remember during a practice session that Baryshnikov leaped high enough to hit one of the chandeliers in the East Room, and we had to find a lower stage and move it to a different place.

In the way of a reflection of my family and friends I mused at the number of people that I encountered during the past 85 years. Everyone here has played an important part but there have been others, many of whom have now passed across the horizon of life, however the purpose of my reminiscing is to share happy thoughts while at the same time take a peek into the future. I can look back to those first few glimpses of my life and find my grandmother Ohme, Gertrude Thieme standing at what I perceived to be a high kitchen counter making sandwiches using a slice of almost not eatable German black bread they called schwartsbrod. With great care she laden it with lard, blootwurst or sometimes liberwurst, topped with the half of a crusty Keiser roll. I always got the heel of the roll, with a quarter lengthwise slice of a crunchy dill pickle. It was the first and last time I remember seeing her before she returned to Germany and the war. My sister Trudy had died a few years prior leaving a collective hole in my family. Her short life and subsequent death was devastating to my mother and father and I constantly felt the sorrow it brought into our home. My father unsuccessfully tried to make a success of a small delicatessen at 11 Nelson Avenue in Jersey City and we moved to 25 Nelson Avenue when my father started working as a chef at Lindy’s Restaurant on Broadway in Manhattan. At home we exclusively spoke German which was a hindrance during World War II. My mother and father never lost their German accent and the only one of my family that made a real effort to speak English without an accent was my Onkle Willie. My parents refused to associate with my Onkle Walter and his wife Tante Wilma although they always treated me kindly and I sometimes talked with my cousins Klein Walter und Norma. The neighborhood treated us as NAZI outcasts until Italy entered the war on the Axis side and suddenly we all had to prove that we were patriotic. Eventually I joined the tin can army and learned enough English to be accepted. As my accent faded I truly became an American.

Wenceslas”: Willie, Willie, Harry, Stee Harry, Dick, John, Harry three. One, two, three Neds, Richard two Harrys four, five, six . . . then who .

Ideas rarely come from watching television. Ideas sometimes come from listening to a lecture. Ideas often come while reading a book. Good ideas come from bad ideas, but only if there are enough of them. Ideas hate conference rooms, particularly conference rooms where there is a history of criticism, personal attacks, or boredom. Ideas occur when dissimilar universes collide. Ideas often strive to meet expectations. If people expect them to appear, they do. Ideas fear experts, but they adore beginners’ minds. A little awareness is a good thing. Ideas come in spurts, until you get frightened. Willie Nelson wrote three of his biggest hits in one week. Ideas come from trouble. Ideas come from our ego, and they do their best when they’re generous and selfless. Ideas come from nature. Sometimes ideas come from fear but often they come from confidence. Useful ideas come from being awake and alert enough to actually notice.

...love was here yesterday, love is here today, and love will be here tomorrow. Love exists outside of time. At some point, sadness stops. For that matter, so does happiness. They're just fleeting feelings. While they're with us, those feelings are strong, yet they don't stay forever. Love does.

of the tiny aircraft and helped the third passenger aboard, his girlfriend Sandra, 30. The plane taxied and sped down the runway. As it rose into the blue California sun, Norman felt a surge of excitement. But as they banked east over Venice Beach, it was clear there was a storm ahead. In front of them a thick blanket of grey cloud was smothering the San Bernardino Mountains. Only the very tips of their 3,000 m (10,000 ft) peaks showed above the gloom. Norman Senior asked the pilot if it was okay to fly in that weather. The pilot reassured them: it was just a thirty-minute hop. They’d stay low and pop through the mountains to Big Bear before they knew it. Norman wondered if he’d be able to see the slope he’d won the championship on when they wheeled round Mount Baldy. His dad nodded and sat back to read the paper and whistle a Willie Nelson tune. Up front, Norman was savouring every moment. He stretched up to see over the plane’s dashboard and listened to the air traffic chatter on his headphones. As the foothills rose below them, he heard Burbank control pass their plane on to Pomona Control. The pilot told Pomona he wanted to stay below 2,300 m (7,500 ft) because of low freezing levels. Then a private plane radioed a warning against flying into the Big Bear area without decent instruments. Suddenly, the sun went out. The greyness was all around them, as thick as soup. They had pierced the storm. The plane shook and lurched. A tree seemed to flit by in the mist, its spiky fingers lunging at the window. But that couldn’t be, not up here. Then there really was a branch outside and with a sickening yawn, time slowed down and the horror unfurled. Norman instinctively curled into a ball. A wing clipped into a tree, tumbling the plane round, up, down, over and round. The spinning only stopped when they slammed into the rugged north face of Ontario Peak. The plane was instantly smashed into debris and the passengers hurled across an icy gully. And there they lay, sprawled amid the wreckage, 75 m (250 ft) from the top of the 2,650 m (8,693 ft) high mountain and perched on a 45-degree ice slope in the heartless storm.

If you ain't crazy, there's something wrong with you.

and Willie Nelson was singing “On the Road Again” on the jukebox. An infelicitous selection, if you ask me.

Nelson Bell took Price's book down to Shanghai to the Christian Book Room of Christopher and Helen Willis (in the future they would be the last Western missionaries in Communist China, for Helen Willis maintained the Book Room until expelled in 1959).

My mother, Myrtle, once wrote...I will eliminate hatred, envy, jealousy, selfishness, and cynicism by developing love for all humanity...we all become better people just by trying to ban negativity from our thoughts and our lives.

TEN GREAT ROAD TRIP SONGS •   “Glory Bound” Martin Sexton •   “Willin’ ” Little Feat •   “Stickshifts and Safetybelts” Cake •   “Radar Love” Golden Earring •   “On the Road Again” Willie Nelson •   “Going Up the Country” Canned Heat •   “Miracle Mile” Cold War Kids •   “Ramblin’ Man” The Allman Brothers Band •   “Thunder Road” Bruce Springsteen •   “Wagon Wheel” Old Crow Medicine Show

It’s good to change. If the change brings about confusion, who cares? Confusion makes you think. And that’s another good thing.

When you expect the best, you release a magnetic force in your mind,” said Peale, “which by a law of attraction tends to bring the best to you.

The most dangerous thing you can do with marijuana. Is get caught with it.

When it comes to persecuting people for pot, there’s a long list of horror stories. The thing that gets me is, why? Why waste precious law enforcement resources on bullshit? I

I'm in a group that puts up statues in Austin, and our most recent work was a bronze Willie, holding Trigger, that now graces the entry to the Austin City Limits studio. I got to pose for that statue, holding a Martin guitar of the same model, N-20. Clete Shields, of Philadelphia, was our sculptor. In 2011, when the statue was cast and delivered to Austin, we covered it with a parachute and stored it in a movie studio until it could be installed. One night, Willie came by for a private unveiling. He was gracious but a little overwhelmed as he exchanged a long look with himself. Bill Wittliff, who is on our committee, explained that what we liked about this piece was its engagement with the audience. "People will come to you," he said. "Little children will touch your knee and seek your counsel." "Do what I say and not what I do," Willie advised.

Joseph Kearns as the Crazy Quilt Dragon. Hanley Stafford as Snapper Snitch the Crocodile. Howard McNear as Samuel the Seal and as Slim Pickins the Cowboy. Elvia Allman as Penelope the Pelican. Elliott Lewis as Mr. Presto the Magician. Lou Merrill as Santa Claus. Frank Nelson as Captain Tin Top. Cy Kendall as Captain Taffy the Pirate and as the Indian Chief. Gale Gordon as Weary Willie the Stork and as the Ostrich. Ted Osborne as Professor Whiz the Owl.

Explain to me again, Lord, why I'm here I don't know I don't know The setting for the stage is still not clear Where's the show? Where's the show? Let it begin, let it begin I am born Can you use me? What would you have me do, Lord? Shall I sing them a song? I could tell them about you, Lord I could sing of the loves I have known I'll work in their cotton and corn fields I promise I'll do all I can I'll laugh and I'll cry I'll live and I'll die Please, Lord, let me be a man Please, Lord, let me be a man And I'll give it all that I can If I'm needed in this distant land Please, Lord, let me hold to your hand Dear Lord, let me be a man And I'll give it all that I can If I'm needed in this distant land Please Lord, let me be a man

I sang ’em all—“Night Life,” “Funny How Time Slips Away,” “Crazy,” “Mr. Record Man,” “I Gotta Get Drunk,” “The Party’s Over.

I think I need to keep being creative, not to prove anything but because it makes me happy just to do it...I think trying to be creative, keeping busy, has a lot to do with keeping you alive. (Keep Going - Austin Kleon)

He’s not the same as what he was at first.” And yet the “real” Dylan has been popping up in odd places of late. In 2009, police in Long Branch, New Jersey, were alerted to the presence of an “eccentric-looking old man” wandering around a residential neighborhood in the rain and peering into the windows of a house marked with a “for sale” sign. When the police arrived, the man introduced himself as Bob Dylan. He had no identification; the officer, Kristie Buble, then twenty-four, suspected he was an escaped mental patient. It “never crossed my mind,” she said, “that this could really be him.” Dylan politely explained that he was on tour with Willie Nelson, playing a nearby resort. He was taken in the patrol car back to the hotel, where his manager identified him. Dylan was exceedingly “nice” throughout the ordeal, the officer reported, noting his odd request that, once identified, she drive him back to the neighborhood where he’d been picked up. She had interrupted him doing god knows what; she was his Person from Porlock. He has a habit of showing up at the childhood homes of fellow musical legends. The Long Branch neighborhood wasn’t far from a house where Bruce Springsteen had lived while writing Born to Run. In 2008, Dylan and his manager were discovered standing on the front lawn of the home in Winnipeg, Manitoba, where Neil Young had lived as a teenager. The owners gave the men an informal tour, during which Dylan asked a number of “thoughtful questions.” In England a year or so later, Dylan slipped unnoticed into a public tour of John Lennon’s childhood home in Liverpool, where he “lingered” over photos and other artifacts, telling the house’s curator that Lennon’s “simple upbringing was similar to his own.” Standing next to Dylan in Lennon’s childhood bedroom was, the curator reported, “surreal.