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

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.

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.

The sun doesn’t give light to the moon, assuming the moon’s gonna owe it one.

Against my will I stand beside my own reflection.

I’m losing what I don’t deserve.

Even those who never frown, eventually break down.

The truth is that trust is a gift, it’s something we all can lose so hold on, it’s not where it goes, it’s where it can lead you to.

I want to find something I’ve wanted all along somewhere I belong.

I got a heart full of pain, head full of stress, handful of anger, held in my chest.

I watch how the moon sits in the sky in the dark night, shining with the light from the sun, and the sun doesn’t give light to the moon assuming, the moon’s gonna owe it one.

Silence in a relationship can be light or heavy. When it’s light, it’s because you’ve got nothing left unsaid. When it’s heavy it’s because there’s so much you’re keeping hidden away.

Let me pour onto your glass and let it overflow with abundant love; for your eyes tell me they need refilling, But all you have now is an empty bottle of escaped homes and dreams.

It does not matter how much water your glass contains; never pour your water out, if it means sacrificing a refill.

The sound of wind chimes, soothing my mind, removing all the frames of my mind, takes me straight away, to the depth, depth of my mind!

The more unintelligent a man is, the less mysterious existence seems to him.

Hell isn’t other people. Hell is yourself.

Some people are homeless not because they don’t have a roof over their head. but because they’re no more with the people they used to call their home.

The idea of America is a mutt-culture, isn’t it? Who the hell is America if not everybody else?