“What goes up will surely fall and I’m counting down the time.”

Do I trust some, and get fooled by phoniness, or do I trust no one and live in loneliness?

When my time comes, forget the wrong that I’ve done. Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed.

I tried so hard and got so far. But in the end, it doesn’t even matter.

I need a little room to breathe cause I am one step closer to the edge. And I’m about to break.

Time is a valuable thing. Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings. Watch it count down to the end of the day, the clock ticks life away!

I’m tired of being what you want me to be, feeling so faithless, lost under the surface. Don’t know what you’re expecting of me, put under the pressure of walking in your shoes.

And you think compassion’s a flaw And you’ll never let it show and you’re sure you’ve hurt in a way that no one will ever know.

In my opinion, the best fans on the planet really did put us where we are.

The very worst part of you is me.

There was a really strong and intense bond with a lot of those early fans, some of whom became what we call lifers.

But trying to be genuine was harder than it seemed.

Against my will I stand beside my own reflection.

What’s the worst thing I’ve stolen? Probably little pieces of other people’s lives. Where I’ve either wasted their time or hurt them in some way.

All I want to do, is be more like me, and less like you.

I don’t like to hold back, because that’s how you hurt yourself.

Never forget the blood sweat and tears, the uphill struggle over years the fear and, trash talking and the people it was to, and the people that started it just like you.

You can fight against people, and fight to the death, but can’t control the world.

Live and die in Aristotle’s works.

You have to forget about what other people say, when you’re supposed to die, or when you’re supposed to be loving. You have to forget about all these things.

If penicillin can cure those that are ill, Spanish sherry can bring the dead back to life.

Mercy did not exist in the primordial life. It was misunderstood for fear, and such misunderstandings made for death.

In the fullness of time, educated people will believe there is no soul independent of the body, and hence no life after death.

If I was dead, I wouldn’t know I was dead. That’s the only thing I have against death. I want to enjoy my death.

If a writer doesn’t generate hostility, he is dead.