“I was consumed by some kind of unholy, indignant rage that propelled me through the confrontation to its successful conclusion - and out the other side into the cool, calm lagoon of reflective dread known as the ‘what the fuck have I just done?’ feeling.”

“It's just nice, I guess. Knowing that someone else can put into words what I feel. That there are people who have been through things worse than I have, and they come out on the other side okay. Not only that, but they made some kind of twisted, fucked-up sense of the completely senseless. They made it mean something. These songs tell me I'm not alone. If you look at it at that way, music... music can see you through anything.”

“Luke is not what you'd call a confident driver. In fact, he drives like someone's grandpa. "Luke," I say, "You have done this before, right? I mean, you do drive?" "Of course I drive!" He shoots me an indignant glare. "It's just that I learned in England. I'm used to driving on the other side of the road." "You pretty much are on the other side of the road.”

“It's the best kind of devastating there is. He took his pain and he turned it into something beautiful. Into something that people connect to. And that's what good music does. It speaks to you. It changes you. What I'm trying to say is, it's just nice, I guess, knowing that someone else can put into words what I feel. That there are people who have been through things worse than I have, and they came out on the other side okay. Not only that, but they have made some kind of twisted, effed up sense of the completely senseless. They made it mean something. These songs tell me I'm not alone. If you look at it that way, music...music can see you through anything.”

“There were thousands of children just like her in the world. She had walked through the fire and come out the other side scorched, but not consumed by it.”

“I guess I'm hoping the weapons will make me feel better, grant me some kind of fucking control, especially if I sense the dullness inside me get too heavy and thick, warning me that something is again approaching, creeping slowly towards my room, no figment of my imagination either but as tangible as you and I, never ceasing to scratch, waiting, perhaps for a word or an order or some other kind of sign to at last initiate this violent and by now inevitable confrontation - always as full of wrath as I am full of fear.”