“Don’t expect me to cry for the wrong reasons.”

Forever in debt to your priceless advice.

All in all is all we are.

No True Talent is fully organic.

I am not well read, but when I do read, I read well.

Nobody dies a virgin. Life fucks us all.

Music is energy. A mood, atmosphere. Feeling.

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.

It’s better to burn out than to fade away.

We’re so trendy we can’t even escape ourselves.

If you die you’re completely happy and your soul somewhere lives on.

Punk is musical freedom. It’s saying, doing and playing what you want. In Webster’s terms, ‘nirvana’ means freedom from pain, suffering and the external world, and that’s pretty close to my definition of Punk Rock.

Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.

I’m not like them, but I can pretend.

I really miss being able to blend in with people.

Drugs are a waste of time. They destroy your memory and your self-respect and everything that goes along with your self esteem.

No one is afraid of heights, they’re afraid of falling down. No one is afraid of saying I love you, they’re afraid of the answer.

Some people say, “Never let them see you cry.” I say, if you’re so mad you could just cry, then cry. It terrifies everyone.

I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.

The other damned saw what was happening and caught hold of it too. She was indignant and cried, “Let go-it’s my onion,” and as soon as she said, “my onion,” the stalk broke and she fell back into the flames.

You can cry for a little bit, eat some ice cream, but I think, after that, it’s like, get up, listen to some powerful music and do something that makes you happy, be productive.

I remember like it was yesterday. He had worked all those years to own that house and he cried. He was so excited and so happy and I want to see other people get that feeling, too.

It’s no use crying over spilt milk, because all of the forces of the universe were bent on spilling it.

I’m just making an observation. They’re crying out for the love that maybe they didn’t get at home, and they got everything.

I heard Amos yell, “For Brooklyn!” It was an odd battle cry.