The rain comes down harder as I write. It sheets off the roof in torrents. I wish it would pound against me. Pound the life from my body. The flesh from my bones. The pain from my heart.

Because beautiful things never last. Not roses nor snow… And not fireworks, either

Meet me where the sky touches the sea. Wait for me where the world begins.

Why is it that weeks and months and years go by so quickly, all in a blur, but moments last forever?

I know it is a bad thing to break a promise, but I think now that it is a worse thing to let a promise break you.

Yeah. Sure. My brother's dead. My mother's insame. Hey, let's have a crepe.

Most of the mess that is called history comes about because kings and presidents cannot be satisfied with a nice chicken and a good loaf of bread.

For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.

History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.

Together in our house, in the firelight, we are the world made small.

We're not punished for our sins, lad. We're punished by them.

In BANKSY we trust.

Whoever is just willingly and without compulsion will not lack happiness; he will never be utterly destroyed.

For Astrid, no matter what challenges they go through, they are going to face each other. It's hard for a daughter to accept that her mother is that selfish and that terrible.

Lovers and mystics are familiar with this sense of grandeur, this taste of joy - in abandoning oneself to the will of others.

I was just down in Dallas, Texas...the Assassination Museum...it's really accurate, you know, 'cause Oswald's not in it.

It was like the Colosseum in Rome and we were the Christians.

I've heard that Oasis or Coldplay will sell tickets, but they can't sell records. They sold out Madison Square Garden in three hours. And they can't sell albums. I don't know what's going on.

Listen to the Bee Gees and you can learn to be a great writer.

We are all alike, on the inside.

If the world offered nothing, nowhere to support or make bearable whatever her private grief was, then it is that world, and not she, that is at fault.