For the record, if I were Superman, a pale, scrawny guy holding a guitar would be Kryptonite.

Everyone feels that void. Everyone who has the balls to look inside themselves, anyway. It's what life's all about.. A search.

As usual, no one's ever around when you need them.

That's why you have to save the dying man. Because you want him around to keep saving you.

And when Paul dove to embrace me, the look on his face was one of absolute, perfect joy—the kind of joy that can't be reproached, stolen, or marred—the kind that only the innocent or the ignorant are capable of experiencing.

That's the only way I could describe the music. It was the sonic equivalent of flight

Nobody, and I mean nobody, ever started a revolution playing by the rules