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Aren't you going to tell me I'm not so bad? she asked. Mmm-no. I was thinking how every man loves a hot girl with a history of making mistakes. Because it's always possible she'll make one with you.

Joe Hill

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Terror is the desire to save your own ass, but horror is rooted in sympathy.
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I will be waiting by candlelight in our tree house of the mind.
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There's only room for one hero in this story-and everyone knows the devil doesn't get to be the good guy.
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The blood of a redheaded woman is three degrees cooler than the blood of a normal woman. This has been established by medical studies.
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Was there any human urge more pitiful-or more intense- than wanting another chance at something?
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Horror was rooted in sympathy . . . in understanding what it would be like to suffer the worst.
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... people made the imaginary real all the time: taking the music they heard in their head and recording it, seeing a house in their imagination and building it. Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on.
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It's like in the Bible.You can't always get what you want, but if you really need something, you usually find it. What part of the Bible is that from? Ig asked her. The Gospel of Keith Richards?
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Gold don't come off. What's good stays good no matter how much of a beating it takes.
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Don't mourn, Organise
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Work and pray, live on hay, youll get pie in the sky when you die.
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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.
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She just knew that even when you had nothing, you still had love.
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Her sanity was a fragile thing, a butterfly cupped in her hands, that she carried with her everywhere, afraid of what would happen if she let it go-or got careless and crushed it.
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The mad sometimes drilled holes in their own heads to let the demons out. To relieve the pressure of thoughts they could no longer bear. Jude understood the impulse. Each beat of his heart was a fresh and staggering blow felt in the nerves behind his eyes and in his temples. Punishing evidence of life.
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The language of sin was universal, the original Esperanto.
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It was like wondering how evil had come into the world or what happens to a person after he dies: an interesting philosophical exercise, but also curiously pointless, since evil and death happened, regardless of the why and the how and what-it-meant.
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Don't ever have children, Tyler, unless you're ready to be afraid everyday for the rest of your life.
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He understood that the ghost existed first and foremost within his own head. That maybe ghosts always haunted minds, not places. If he wanted to take a shot at it, he’d have to turn the barrel against his own temple.
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Some things you didn't give away, no matter how much you owed.
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