O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.

Windows work two ways, mirrors one way. You never walk through mirrors or swim through windows.

We're reaching for death on the end of a candle We're trying for something that's already found us

We have assembled inside this ancient / and insane theatre / To propagate our lust for life / and flee the swarming wisdom / of the streets

Actually I don't remember being born, it must have happened during one of my black outs.

O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.

I've always thought comparisons were useless and ugly. It is a short cut to thinking.