“My weaknesses had become my strengths, my ugliness had become beauty, my apathy to the world had become a desire to save it.”

The crack inside your fucking heart is me.

If you really feel hatred for someone, and kind of send it their way, then it’s out of your system and in their hands. I always think it’s therapeutic.

There’s nothing like the feeling of knowing that you’ve made a difference in someone’s life, even if that difference is a lifetime of nightmares and a fortune in therapy bills.

A lot of people don’t want to make their own decisions. They’re too scared. It’s much easier to be told what to do.

We don’t like to kill our unborn; we need them to grow up and fight our wars.

In a society where you are taught to love everything, what value does that place on love?

If every cigarette you smoke takes seven minutes off of your life, every game of Dungeons & Dragons you play delays the loss of your virginity by seven hours.

I have assumed the role of Antichrist; I am the Nineties voice of individuality and people tend to associate anyone who looks and behaves differently with illegal or immoral activity.

If you intend to create something that people will observe and listen to, you’ve got to listen to them first.

I never said to be like me, I say to be like you and make a difference.

The imagination is precious. Don’t lose it. Don’t lose the child in you.

The aspiration to save the world is a morbid phenomenon of today’s youth.

Haters call me bitch, call me faggot, call me whitey, but I am something you could never be.

Times have not become more violent. They have just become more televised.

Is adult amusement killing our children, or is killing our children amusing adults?

There’s no time to discriminate, hate every motherfucker that’s in your way.

If beauty is truth, why don’t women go to the library to have their hair done?

But what if we took it one step further and made an effort to actually transform our pain into something beautiful? What if we went full out and made an effort to transform other people’s pain into something beautiful?

The eyes of a woman who never cried can not be beautiful.

Broken glass taught me there is something so beautiful in shattering.

It’s not my job to look beautiful. It’s my job to look interesting.

I cried and cried and cried having Realized that the beauty of my soul was being neglected by nobody else but myself.

What is pertinent is the calmness of that beauty, its sense of restraint.

Everything beautiful has a mark of eternity.