Because the truth is that gossip is as good as gospel in this town. You can save face but you won't ever save your soul. And that's a fact.

My head's a carousel of pictures and The spinning never stops.

I really just want to be warm yellow light that pours over everyone I love.

I find that life is easier when it is just a blur With no details to confuse who or what or where I was So when the ending comes the full regret will be obscure

I think there's so much about Rasta culture that's interesting. Just the idea of preaching one-ness, that we're all in this together.

Now I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers and laid entwined together on a bed of clover and left there to sleep, left there to dream of their happiness.

It's not a movie, no private screening This method acting, well, I call that living

I drink to stay warm, and to kill selected memories

I like to feel the burn of the audience's eyes when I'm whispering all my darkest secrets into the microphone.

If the world could remain within a frame like a painting on the wall, I think we'd see the beauty then and stand staring in awe.

You should never be embarrassed by your trouble with living, because it's the ones with the sorest throats who have done the most singing.

Agreeing to disagree is a prerogative only of those who live under a democratic system.

I have a medical condition, all right. It's called caring too much, and it's incurable. Also, I have eczema.

Bad programmers worry about the code. Good programmers worry about data structures and their relationships.

The phenomenon of university creative writing programs doesn't exist in France. The whole idea is regarded as a novelty, or an oddity.

Wherever you turn, there is always something wrong with the politicians. They have everything they need to save the world, and they don't save it.

I have an ulcer. It has an IQ of 185.

She won't give him back his look.

Nothing we see or hear is perfect. But right there in the imperfection is perfect reality.

Words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes.