There are things we never tell anyone. We want to but we can't. So we write them down. Or we paint them. Or we sing about them. It's our only option. To remember. To attempt to discover the truth. Sometimes we do it to stay alive. These things, they live inside of us. They are the secrets we stash in our pockets and the weapons we carry like guns across our backs. And in the end we have to decide for ourselves when these things are worth fighting for, and when it's time to throw in the towel.

Anything less than mad, passionate, extraordinary love is a waste of time. There are too many mediocre things in life to deal with and love shouldn't be one of them.

No one commits suicide because they want to die.

I'm not messy. I'm rebelling against folding.

Just knowing you exist changed the world for me.

Inside every believe, there's a lie.

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