You have endless ways you can commit suicide without dying dying.

Griping isn't the same as creating something. Rebelling isn't rebuilding. Ridiculing isn't replacing. We've taken the world apart but we have no idea what to do with the pieces.

I told him to buy land, my mum says, they’re not making it anymore.

Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on.

You cannot be the person they know and the great, glorious person you want to become. Not at the same time.

Sundays tend to be a day where just I do nothing but visit people. It's kind of like trick-or-treating.

Do we have free will, or do the mass media and our culture control us, our desires and actions, from the moment we’re born?