We were never tragedies. We were emergencies. You go ahead, call 9-1-1. Tell them I'm havin' a fantastic time.

There is a point when tears don't work to wash things away anymore. Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers.

I'm ready to kill something. I'll probably only get as far as my brain cells, but I am going to kill them.

Everything is out there. That's why they call it everything.

Even good hearts know how to turn bad touch and genocide into clichés just to make room for more comfort.

You're not the only piece of patchwork birds can pull worms from.

We can stick anything into the fog and make it look like a ghost.