“Without you the instruments would die.One sits close beside you. Another takes a long kiss.The tambourine begs, Touch my skin so I can be myself.Let me feel you enter each limb bone by bone,that what died last night can be whole today.Why live some soberer way, and feel you ebbing out?I won't do it.Either give me enough wine or leave me alone,now that I know how it isto be with you in constant conversation.”

“What's going on between us?" "I want you." "Do you? Really? Because these scars are sexy." "I don't give a fuck about your scars." "How are you going to react when we 're this close and you take off my shirt? Are you still going to want me when you see red and white lines? Are you going to flinch each time you accidentally touch my arms and feel the raised skin? How about when i touch you?""Or will you forbid that? Will you tell me how to dress or what i'm allowed to take off?" "For the last time I don't give a fuck about your scars." "Liar. Because the only way anyone will ever be okay with me is if they love me. Really love me enough to not care that I’m damaged. You don't love people. You have sex with them. So how could you want to be with me?”

“Sunshine,blinds you if you stare but,Now I see, crystal clear.So here I am,You can take or leave me.But I won't ever be anywhere but here.And I'm begging you,Bring me back to life,I just can't stand leaving you alone tonight.It's too late to go,Already taken me forever just to try, you know.For the life of me,I don't know why it took me so long to see.”

“I feel you in my bones. You're knocking at my windows. You're slow to letting me go. And I know this feeling, This feeling in my bones.”

“There's a distinction between telling death reinforce the meaning of life and "living every day as if it were your last." No one can really live that way with out getting locked up. We cannot realistically approach each day as if it were our last. What would you do if you found out you were going to die at the end of this day? Would you do into work? Would you sit and pray_ Would you run around in a panic trying to get out last batch of letters or e-mails? Giving stuff away? I don't know exactly what any of us would do under such circumstances, but it's my guess that it would not feel too comfortable. It would make me feel utterly dejected. I wouldn't know where to turn first.”

“In the future, I’ll be furniture. Step on me now or sit on me later, but either way let me know how I can make you feel comfortable.”