I have to tell you man, that my stalker meter is kind of registering in the red zone right now.

Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.

Amsterdam is like the rings of a tree: It gets older as you get closer to the center.

I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater.

...And in freedom, most people find sin.

So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

A taste so profound and complex that it can't even be compared to other tastes, only to emotions. Cheesy waffles, I was thinking, tastes like love without the fear of love's dissolution.

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.

All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm.

I would always love Alaska Young, my crooked neighbor, with all my crooked heart.

The color of truth is grey.

I knew I wasn't the picture of health, but I didn't think I was headed for the last roundup.

Hope and Happiness Hope is grief's best music.

I've always felt that dark lyrics with dark music is pretty useless. Maybe that's a strong statement - not useless, but for me, it's just boring.

Some people like to travel by train because it combines the slowness of a car with the cramped public exposure of an airplane.

The most enviable praise of all is just to be called an honest man.

Fraternal love, sometimes almost every thing, is at others worse than nothing.

Discard yourself and thereby regain yourself. Spread the trap of humility and ensnare love.

For those who can do it and who keep their nerve, writing for a living still beats most real, grown-up jobs hands down.

I want to spend time with Oprah and I don't know what I need to do to make that happen.