“There is one thing above all others that I despise. It is fingers, especially female fingers, messing around in my guts. My guts, like Victorian marriage, are private.”
“What does your gut tell you?""My gut and I aren't currently speaking toeach other”
“He lost a finger. A finger! Why, I once had a Sherpa who guided me across the Himalayas with his small intestines hanging out of his gut -- in winter!”
“I wish I knew how to change my patterns--all of them. But it's like the blood in my finger. I screw up and there it is, just the stuff I'm made of, making a mess again.”
“I don't like painting flowers in my music. I like painting guts and pain”
“Or maybe, in my gut, I felt like I was missing out on something. I knew there was more to life than a pixelated curtain. There was a wide, expansive world all around me and I was confined to live inside such a narrow one. And I wanted to break free.”