I make love like a flower sings. That’s hyperbole, because flowers don’t sing—they only play the guitar.


Love's so alive, but it died in its sleep.And now that it's dead, I live in your head and I will haunt your fucking dreams

Music, of all the arts, stands in a special region, unlit by any star but its own, and utterly without meaning ... except its own.

Music has always assuaged my lacerations, brightened my hours, added glow to my little joys and given wings to my fantasy flights.

You're the face in the mirror my favorite sinBut you want revenge from the Lord aboveSo the rain comes down heavy like my love

Sometimes I just want to paint the words "It's my fault" across my forehead to save people the time of being pissed off at me.

Virgin suicideWhat was that she cried?No use in stayin'On this holocaust rideShe gave me her cherryShe's my virgin suicide

How far is too far? When you love a band so much that its songs fill the empty spaces inside your head and heart, is that too far?

The dusty library air is electric with secrets/ almost palpable in the thick quiet that bounces between/ Cal and those books and me

Sexuality and anger are often written with the same note, but never on the same line, because they don’t make music together.

Music I discovered that night, was a sanctuary, a safe place to hide, a place where scars didn't matter, they didn't exist.

Hardcore without punk isn't music, it's a genre of porn. And punk isn't a genre of music, it’s a thought process.

For me singing sad songs often has a way of healing a situation It gets the hurt out in the open into the light out of the darkness

Music has gone the way of food. People want it fast and cheap and they don’t care what it tastes like or where it comes from.

So It's Gonna Be Forever or It's Gonna Go Down In FlamesYou Can Tell Me When It's Over, If the High Was Worth the Pain.