I hate being the heartbreaker. Hate it. If I date somebody and it doesn't work out, it's another nightmare for me.

I may have taken someone through the wringer psychologically, but I've never been sinister.

I can't describe it in words, but I can see it in my head, its color, its light, its shapes, and I've managed to synthesize my love for myself by way of many different reasonings and processes, and I've been able to really synthesize my own satisfaction and things that do it for me. They've usually been self-taught, self-instructed, self-refined. So to be with anybody else has to somewhat lie in that comfort zone I've created with myself so well.

When you're just open but not honest, then you start free-associating garbage.

When you're dreaming with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part. You roll outta bed and down on your knees and for a moment you can hardly breathe.

I quit the media game. I'm out. I'm done.

Love is like grass. If you fall on it, it may leave a stain and some temporary pain. But you'll get over the pain, it will eventually stop hurting. Now maybe the stain ruined your favourite pair of jeans, or maybe it was nothing special that was ruined, but either way the stain remains there. And with time, it will begin to fade, but it will always be there, a permanent reminder that you, too, once fell.