Melody Gardot

I have a bit of supernatural take on life. For a moment, I went over to the other side. Since then, I can feel the presence of the departed. I’m very sensitive to it.

For a long time I hated my body, because I was constantly suffering. But now I look at it like an old Mercedes with chrome bumpers. It costs a fortune to repair, it breaks down all the time, you can only use it once a week, the seat leather is starting to crack – but nonetheless it’s mine.

It’s the same for listeners. If you can’t stand your girlfriend, can’t take it anymore, put on your headphones and escape into another world.

People always ask, “Why jazz?” and I’m like “Why not?” It’s kind of like asking Seurat, “Why so many dots?” I imagine if you asked Bjork, “Why the Tibetan bells?” She’d probably be like “That’s just what I heard.” It’s the same thing. This is just the way I see music.

The first time I went to Paris, it just felt like I was home. I didn’t question it.

One of the problems of people who live with pain is that they spend the whole day thinking about it, and it’s exasperating. But even when I am having a bad moment and I can’t get myself together, I get on stage and for an hour or two the pain becomes super-small. It’s about controlling the mind, telling the pain to step aside. Music does that. It’s the most fantastic drug in the world.

For truth is precious and divine, too rich a pearl for carnal swine.

It is more from carelessness about truth than from intentionally lying that there is so much falsehood in the world.

Tell me anyway–Maybe I can find the truth by comparing the lies.

Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened.

The bullsh*t is more interesting than the truth.

Truth is so hard to tell, it sometimes needs fiction to make it plausible.

It is a puzzling thing. The truth knocks on the door and you say, ‘Go away, I’m looking for the truth.’ and so it goes away. Puzzling.

There are only two ways of telling the complete truth–anonymously and posthumously.

A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.

The truth is sometimes a hard pill to swallow. It sometimes causes us difficulties at home and abroad. It is sometimes used by our enemies in attempts to hurt us. But the American people are entitled to it, nonetheless.

It’s no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.

The truth knocks on the door and you say, Go away, I’m looking for the truth, and so it goes away. Puzzling.

If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.

If you tell the truth you don’t have to remember anything.

There’s a world of difference between truth and facts. Facts can obscure truth.