That throbbing thing in my chest can hardly be called a heart. It has been wrung out and deformed into something merely functional. Nothing can revive it.

Now me and musicplay hide and seek.

Music itself has taught me never to underestimate a mistake, for, in the midst of all, it’s often in that mistake where the realm of the unexpected creation is hidden.

To hide away from the world whose loveless heart has gone astrayand its inhabitants what could be a safer place than my imagination?

I cover the floor with a thin layer of imagination so that i’ll always land softly.

Such dreams provide this temporary illusion of a life that has meaning.

you’re ignoring me so loud that it’s deafening. This silence is so deep that it’s echoing.

the pavement makes no soundas it touches your feetcalm and constantlike silence on repeatlanguidly your thoughts bleedinto the evening airin crimson red the words read'some things are beyond repair

To think that two bodies, crooked by life into question marks, when encountering one another did not form a heart.. To do that, all we needed was to look each other in the eye. But you looked away.

it’s miraculous how the shallow can injure in such a profound way.

I love it when there’s nothingLeft to see but tiny spots of what’s still lightStories piercing the night.

God is dead and I am his replacement.

A day without love and gratitude is a day without significance and wasted.

Faces that have charmed us the most escape us the soonest.

Indian men are still used to the traditional role given to women; they want intelligent girls for company but not to marry... they have yet to taste and relish the company of mature women.

Saying a camera takes nice pictures is like saying a guitar plays nice melodies.

I didn't enjoy working with Bill [Murray]. We fought a lot... but I've let go of some of the anger and we seem to get along fine now.

The government cannot put a chocolate on every one of their pillows and tuck them in at night.

Never tell anyone to be careful, never ask what that noise was, and for the love of God, never, ever say that you'll be right back." —Evelyn Baker

I g-g-guess...I'm dead?" she heard her own voice call out, strangely high-pitched and thin. For a long time, she heard nothing else. And then: "Hi, Dead. I'm Dan.

Something of the severe hath always been appertaining to order and to grace; and the beauty that is not too liberal is sought the most ardently, and loved the longest.