I don't know how to be a friend. I don't know how to be anything.

It takes certain kind of naiveté, or perhaps just stupidity, to know things will end and still hope otherwise.

I’ve blamed her for all of this, for leaving, for ruining me. And maybe that was the seed of it, but from that one little seed grew this tumor of a flowering plant. And I’m the one who nurtures it. I water it. I care for it.I nibble from its poison berries. I let it wrap around my neck, choking the air right out of me. I’ve done that. All by myself. All to myself.

But what if Shakespeare― and Hamlet― were asking the wrong question? What if the real question is not whether to be, but how to be?

It's just accidental, just temporary. Until the next accident sends me somewhere new. That's how life works.

Barrel of the gun, rounds one two three She says I have to pick: choose you, or choose me Metal to the temple, the explosion is deafening Lick the blood that covers me She’s the last one standing “Roulette” Collateral Damage, Track 11

I think everything is happening all the time, but if you don't put yourself in the path of it, you miss it. When you travel, you put yourself out there. It's not always great. Sometimes it's terrible. But other times ... [...] It's not so bad.