A friend comes over with a Ouija board.It spells out: Bourbon. Where’s the band?Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.

I place solitude in a frame on my desk and call it, the one I love.

We must live with our hearts in our hands - like Mary.We must hold the blood-red heart and no be disappointedwhen others look away.

As I go under, I wonder if there’s a reason for art?

Yes, it hurts to fall— ache, tenderness—but each scar is a sign your system is working.

She pours sugar on her life and drinks the artist’s marrow in the bone of her glass and she lives.

in the corner of the painting of successthe signature is blurred

Like the kite that caught up to the sky, painted with clouds, I lost track of it, but it was connected by string, something I was holding, something I could always bring back.

Sometimes darknessis the beauty I am made of—

To suffer together is to suffer with beauty,

Maybe I’m still the mermaid. Maybe the ocean is your hand.

The stories that grow up around a king are strong vines with a fierce grip.

With positive outlook life will always be beautiful.

In the silence of the mountain there is much you can learn.

Being a keen observer, I would think to myself, who is approachable? Who is someone I'd like to know? Who is putting out welcoming vibes?

Take it from me, its hip to be square.

but the idea of the Dark Lord in possesion of the Deathstick is, I must admit, formidable.

Seeing one's books on the shelf tells you so much about the way somebody has, over the years, put together their private library, which is a reflection of their minds and their selves.

I'm content with making records, but I don't want to be doing the same thing all the time.

The nice thing about growing up in that kind of environment is you were exposed to so much -- music, plays, art exhibits, rock concerts.

We were on our way to the twentieth floor, sharing the elevator with two suits that had men inside them.