I'm sick of the images trapped in my headI'm sick of being preoccupied with the dead

Friday night's alright for fightingSaturday, Sunday, Monday tooEvery night is a night of fightingWith family and friends like you

There is a voice in my head that is only silenced by the scratching of my pen

Starving artist: starving for affection, starving for attention

We dreamt of a crappy apartment somewhereMaking love while we let the midnight airFlow through the open window, into our closed heartsLeft bitter from heartbreak and too much time apart

Will I ever see the mountains or am I doomed to roam the flatlands?

Traveling down a road of self-destructionWith no room for any reconstruction

I remember all the things we said we'd doAnd how not a single thing we said was true

If your paramount concern in life is to make sure everyone likes and approves of you, I’m sorry to say you’re going to find yourself running in circles for the rest of your life.

I've never been lonely because I enjoy my own company.

Glory had rehearsed angry outbursts in anticipation of his arrival. She began to hope he would come so she could tell him exactly what she thought.

Those friends thou hast and their adoption tried grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.

Morale is when your hands and feet keep on working when your head says it can't be done.

The only true aristocracy is that of consciousness.

I want the world to be filled with white fluffy duckies

When you battle with your conscience and lose, you win.

Entrepreneurship is about turning what excites you in life into capital, so that you can do more of it and move forward with it.

If somebody writes a book and doesn't care for the survival of that book, he's an imbecile.