My dedication to music has driven everybody away.

The first guitar I saw was on TV. Jerry Lee Lewis was doing 'Great Balls Of Fire'. And that just threw me; it was like seeing someone from outer space.

I became a rock star. Even though it was against my will to begin with, that's the way it turned out. I enjoy it.

Cream was originally meant to be a blues trio... sort of like Buddy Guy with a rhythm section. We were going to play small clubs... we didn't want to be big in any way.

I had no idea what 'Layla' was going to be. It was just a ditty. When you get near to the end of it/that's when your enthusiasm starts building, and you know you've got something really powerful.


By the time of the second Dominos' album sessions, money and dope and women were getting so far involved with our nucleus that we couldn't communicate any more.

Going out on my own was a massive step, which really shook me. Because then I had to come to terms with the fact that I was also regarded as a pop musician, as well as a rock'n'roll musician, as well as a blues musician.

I'm a very habitual person, and I like nothing more in my life than to have routines, even if it's only a yearly project at the Royal Albert Hall. I don't see any reason for it to end.

I play best when I'm under a lot of strain or when think there's nothing left in me.

He (Jimi Hendrix) got up and played two songs with us (Cream) and I knew it was all over in terms of guitar heroes. Jimi had everything. He'd got all the tricks, he played like a genius.

I think I've laid over a thousand girls now. It was a childhood ambition.

The death of my son and Stevie Ray taught me that life is very fragile, and that if you are given another twenty-four hours, it's a blessing. That's the best way to look at it.