I think politicians get hamstrung by the nature of politics when the private sector can really do great things.
The month of November makes me feel that life is passing more quickly. In an effort to slow it down, I try to fill the hours more meaningfully.
Everything you do makes my body scream with loneliness.
There are religions and social and moral awareness in any society that gets passed immediately. Those human truths. All cultures address them.
I know you’ll never love me but maybe you’ll stay for awhile.
I like the idea of someone else’s love safely sealed in a song or a book.
I am well protected Too locked up Inside myself To get free.
Always knowing you’re going to die And until then knowing you’ve got to live.
And I love the hate mail I get, the unsigned, misspelled letters I get telling me to go back to Russia or wherever.
Questioning anything and everything, to me, is punk rock.
Youth is fleeting and life is short, you might as well strike hard. Anything else is just average.
I used to sit on the roof of the apartment where Jim Morrison used to write his early lyrics.
The only safety is in the middle of total misunderstanding and deception.
You don’t make me feel like you used to. That’s why I’m leaving That’s why people leave each other They come to their senses and get selfish again.
I would like to become a better photographer. I’m working on that.
Is it a shame that I can’t accept love? Am I too burned out to move towards what will keep me alive or too smart to get pulled into someone else’s world?
I’d like to talk to Arnold Schwarzenegger, ’cause I live in California and I just want to see that canned, chemical filled body in my office.
As miserable as life may be I hold it pretty precious.
The tasks I set out for myself are what I do to beat the perfect pointlessness of life.
I see walking bombs on the street Hearts not beating, but ticking.