I'm not unswayed by the opinions of others. I actually really value that, the idea that you can feel things the way somebody else might feel them is a really big part of doing music for me.

I try not to think about the drums themselves. If I do, I'll end up hitting myself in the head with a drumstick, or sustaining some weird injury.

I'm a rock-and-roll drummer, so my job is to create chaos.

I have music in my head; I can't help it. You can put a gun to my head and it's not going to go away. The privilege is that I'm not being prevented from following that.

What most people call "chaos" is actually incredibly predictable and maddeningly boring - greed, close-mindedness, warring over power.

There's part of me that feels a privilege not to do music, but to do what everybody should be allowed to do, which is to do what you're driven to do.

It's weird to me to even say, "I wrote this song." I never feel like I wrote it; I feel like I heard it.

I've found that writing and playing music has so little to do with will, and so much to do with just finding what's there waiting for you.

It's very heartening to see people who I used to do music with still doing it.

That's one of the things that always grabbed me about rock music: There's a song, and you know how it goes, and you can sort of predict it, but a lot is left up to chance and interaction.

When we play, every day is different. All three of my bandmates surprise me all the time.

Just thugs only ever got so far. The best thugs were all psychologists.

Too many of our preferences reflect nasty behaviours and states of mind that were genetically adaptive in the ancestral environment. Instead, wouldn't it be better if we rewrote our own corrupt code?

No Scripture comes from any Supreme Creator.

…and available man candy. But at least there would be mud, and maybe cows.” p12

To walk quietly until the miracle in everything speaks is poetry, whether we write it down or not.

Is it shocking?" he asked sarcastically. "To discover that there are things you don't know?

The timid and fearful cannot defend liberty -- or anything else.

What sort of sap doesn't know by now that picture-perfect beauty is all done with smoke and mirrors anyway?

Secrets bind and separate in strict accordance with who's in them .

When fear has seized upon the mind, man fears that only which he first began to fear. [Lat., Ubi intravit animos pavor, id solum metuunt, quod primum formidate coeperunt.]