A Quote by Yoko Ono

Music is like my security blanket. — © Yoko Ono
Music is like my security blanket.
Music is like my security blanket. The first medium that I learned was music.
When I was young I had a security blanket and a pet dog. The dog got sick and died and the blanket had to be burned, so I guess I was trying to recreate the image of security in the bunny. It was a Citizen Kane/Rosebud thing.
It is like having a blanket that is too small for the bed, you pull the blanket up to keep your chest warm, and your feet stick out. I cannot buy a bigger blanket because the supermarket is closed. But the blanket I have is made of cashmere. So it's good.
I say, ‘You should blanket me’ or ‘you should blanket her’, meaning like a blanket is a blessing. It’s a way of showing love and caring.
. . . in one sense a foundation is a security blanket: If you meticulously follow the rules laid down, no paradoxes or contradictions will arise. In reality there is now no guarantee of this sort of security . . .
I find anger so comforting. It's like a blanket made of unresolved issues, but it's a blanket none the less.
I still have my Levi's jacket that I bought on the Portobello Road when I was 14, and it's like part of me, you know, it's got oils in it, and it's my comfort, security blanket or something.
My first memory of loving music happened so early. We would always go to the beach in the summer and I would run from blanket to blanket, from family to family and just sing Lion King songs acapella.
I think sitting behind a keyboard can be a security blanket.
Security is a thumb and a blanket. Happiness is a warm puppy.
Clothing & fashion are kind of my security blanket, almost.
I just sat there letting that music cover me like a big, cozy blanket.
Inspect every piece of pseudoscience and you will find a security blanket.
Worldviews are more a mental security blanket than a serious effort to understand the world
Over the years, Steve has come to understand I need the clicker. He says it's my security blanket.
It’s like the grief has been covered over with some kind of blanket. It’s still there, but the sharpest edges are .. muffled, sort of. Then, ever now and then, I lift the corner of the blanket just to check, and .. whoa! Like a knife! I’m not sure that will ever change.
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