In San Francisco, Halloween is redundant.

I wouldn't support Limp Bizkit being on some snuff backyard brawling, fighting contest.

My life. The life I'm living that's where all my inspiration comes from. Real life experiences.

I'm 38 years old and Limp Bizkit is just something I do. If I was a painter, it would just be a type of painting I make.

Walter Mondale has all the charisma of a speed bump.

I loved the Cure and Bauhaus and the Smiths. The people in my town weren't privy to that kind of music and I got abused. I discovered the microphone to get out some of that angst.

When Wes came back to Limp Bizkit, we really wanted to do something different. We wanted to make a core record that we didn't care who liked or who disliked.

One of the things that was confusing about Limp Bizkit to some people is that our tastes were very different.

There's some people who are not understanding what Limp Bizkit is about. But, then again, who am I to tell people what they can use art for or how they can interpret it?

The future is easy because it doesn’t exist; but the past is painful because it lives forever.

Comedy is defiance. It's a snort of contempt in the face of fear and anxiety. And it's the laughter that allows hope to creep back on the inhale.

I so want to believe him, but right now even his touch feels like a lie.

A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure, a messenger of peace and love, a resting place for innocence on earth, a link between angels and men.

Happy endings are just stories that haven't finished yet.

I drive a V10 Ford Excursion and I have to tell folks all the time: look I've got five kids and a dog and birds. I would have to have two Lincolns with two V8s, you see, so it would be 16 cylinders.

In the 1970s when I started in the art world, no self-respecting artist would have stood in line to try to get on a television show. It never would have happened.

So don't. Come hang out with me at work. We can play naughty dress up with the hospital gowns and rearrange the supply closets.

I must have been about 11 when I read the book Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, which I read, over and over again.

That’s it,” she said, balling her hands in fists. “I’m not letting you out of it this time. I insist that you take me to Scotland. I demand you ruin me. As a point of honor.

What's our baggage? Only vows, Happiness, and all our care, And the flower that sweetly shows Nestling lightly in your hair.