We change our opinions of ourselves so often. What the outside world thinks is only a small part of our image.
I had this terrible stammer, so I couldn’t really speak properly until I was 16 or 17.
I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee.
Then I went through a big Peggy Lee stage, then I became Annie Ross, then Judy Collins.
I’ve always thought of myself as being a warrior. When you actually have a battle, it’s better than when you don’t know who to fight.
But I’m lost when it comes to you.
Don’t mind if I fall apart. There’s more room in a broken heart.
Being in this business for as long as I’ve been in it, it’s sort of like living in a town or a city before the war and then after the war and then during the reconstruction and then during the time that it sprawls out to the malls.
The models for me were more the folk-rock singers of the ’60s and ’70s.
I always think it’s interesting to dig a little bit deeper every time you go to someplace that seems like a revelation or a strong connection to an emotional truth.
As a singer I tried on all these hats, these voices, these clothes, and eventually out came me.
It’s like The Mold in Dr. Florey’s Coat, about the discovery of penicillin. Out of these strange accidents come huge discoveries. A certain purple bleeds into red and all of a sudden you have something unexpected.