I Didn't Know The Inner

I Remind Myself That No One Day Of Writing Matters All That Much. A Story Is Built Somewhat Like A Stalactite - One Little Drip Of Mud And Grit At A Time.

Music [is] The Third Rail Of Life. You Grabbed It To Shock Yourself Out Of The Dull Drag Of Hours. To Feel Something. To Burn With All The Emotions You Didn't Get To Experience In The Ordinary Run Of School, Tv, And Loading The Dishwasher After Dinner.

I'll Take The Shooting. I'm Used To That. I've Been Shot A Few Times In The Past, And I Guess I Can Stand It, Again.

The Language Of Sin Was Universal, The Original Esperanto.

Gold Don't Come Off. What's Good Stays Good No Matter How Much Of A Beating It Takes.