Music [is] the third rail of life. You grabbed it to shock yourself out of the dull drag of hours. To feel something. To burn with all the emotions you didn't get to experience in the ordinary run of school, TV, and loading the dishwasher after dinner.

Who knows what may lie around the next corner? There may be a window somewhere ahead. It may look out on a field of sunflowers.

I mean, when the world comes for your children, with the knives out, it's your job to stand in the way.

... people made the imaginary real all the time: taking the music they heard in their head and recording it, seeing a house in their imagination and building it. Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on.

It was like wondering how evil had come into the world or what happens to a person after he dies: an interesting philosophical exercise, but also curiously pointless, since evil and death happened, regardless of the why and the how and what-it-meant.

You'll have pie in the sky when you die.

I felt like it needed some color down there, so I painted the walls with the motherfucker.