Creator of all Things, to sing: At the Potter's House, you see, we are His Pottery...Because God writes (in) Love, and speaks (in) 'Poetree': The Nature of Things, the King of Kings, oh Kingdom of the Holy, we sing!

When there's music in your soul, there's soul in your music.

I treat my thoughts like an old person treats their valuables: I cannot for the life of me proceed to throwing them out.

There are 2 kinds of artists, essentially: those who want to make something popular, and those who want to make something dignified. But then there is still that rare hybrid case, and perhaps by that unintentional stroke of genius, in which one's work uncontrollably becomes both popular and dignified yet beyond its time.

This is almost always the case: A piece of art receives its f(r)ame when found offensive.

Controversy is a last resort for the talentless.

An anomaly has his own ambitions. You can try reasoning with him, but that's like using money to bribe a beast.

I've played Romeo for Juliet(But in depth)It's vignettes of silhouettes(And then read)And watched Russian roulette, yeah red SovietYet doing it simultaneouslyWhile dropping down shed oubliettesTurned around and took truth to the head thatLove is the ugliest thing too beautiful for death

You wander. You work nearly every job known to man, it seems, only to arrive at the wonderings of philosophy.