Anyway, it's gone. And there's nothing left in my pocket to charm you. So from now on it's going to have to be tears or nothing I'm afraid. That's all I've got left to tell you see: tears, tears, tears.

There are lives lived for love, and lives lived for art. We, happy band, have chosen the later persuasion.

There is no such thing as originality. It has all been said before, suffered before. If a person knows that, is it any wonder love becomes mechanical and death just a scene to be shunned? There is no absolute knowledge to be gained from either. Just another ride on the merry-go-round, another blurred scene of faces smiling and faces grieved.

Have patience; the lovers will suffer lovers always suffer.

She's...just a girl, you know. Like most girls: something and nothing.

A soul of water a soul of stone. A soul by name a soul unknown. The hours unmake our flesh our bone. The Soul is all and all alone!

Funny that. We live in islands of Hours and we never seem to have time enough for anything.