You give my regards to St. Peter, or whoever has his job, but in Hell.

The stupidest person in the room might have the best idea.

My soul is wrapped in harsh repose, Midnight descends in raven-colored clothes, But soft... behold! A sunlight beam Butting a swath of glimmering gleam. My heart expands, 'tis grown a bulge in it, Inspired by your beauty... Effulgent.

There is always backlash. Everything gets backlash.

Someone else's loss is my chocolatey goodness

Now there’s us, staking out our piece of cinematic turf (might be small but it’s ours). And the music has to fit the vision as specifically as it did for [Star Wars and The Matrix.] OUR music comes from THEIR music, this scrappled bunch. It is spare, intimate, mournful and indefatigable.

I'm a very gentle man, not unlike Gandhi.