The beautiful people in the magazines, got the normal ones living beyond their means.

There's a strange sense of pleasure being beat to hell by a storm when you're on a ship that is not going to sink.

I'm growing older, but not up.

My mother insisted that her children read.

We're just recycled history machines, cavemen in faded blue jeans.

Be yourself, be pleasant, play hard and have no regrets.

Well, I'm still here. Didn't have to go to rehab, and I'm not broke.