What my mom failed to understand was that I didn't even want long hair -- I needed long hair. And my desire for protracted, flowing locks had virtually nothing to do with fashion, nor was it a form of protest against the constructions of mainstream society. My motivation was far more philosophical. I wanted to rock.

I like storms. I would say I actively like stormy weather. I would not be afraid of them. I think that if I had not pursued journalism, I think storm-chasing would've been a really fun career.

Without a soundtrack, human interaction is meaningless.

Everybody is wrong about everything, just about all the time.

Important things are inevitably cliche, but nobody wants to admit that.

Every time I learn the truth about something, I’m disappointed

That's like comparing apples with hermaphroditic ground sloths.