Many People Have A Novel Inside Them,

For Someone Who Can’t Remember Very Much, There Seems To Be A Lot I Can’t Forget.

The Joke's On Them. One Little Hypodermic Wont' Be Enough. Split A Piece Of Wood, And They'll Find Me. Lift Up A Stone, And They'll Find Me. Look In The Mirror, And They'll Find Me...if You Really Want To Know What Makes Someone A Killer, Ask Yourself What Would Make You Do It.

Maybe The Reason I've Never Died In This Story Is That I've Never Had Something Worth Dying For Before.

Nobody, Who Looks At A Shard Of Flint Lying Beneath A Rock Ledge, Or Who Finds A Splintered Log By The Side Of The Road Would Ever Find Magic In Their Solitude. But In The Right Circumstances, If You Bring Them Together, You Can Start A Fire That Consumes The World.

The Best Place To Cry Is On A Mother's Arms.