“The rain fell like dead bullets.”

“The rain fell like dead bullets.”

“The rain fell like dead bullets.”

“Then on your tombstone, where you only get a little bit of space to sum up your life, some wax-faced creep chisels a set of meaningless numbers instead of poetry or a secret love or the name of your favorite candy. In the end, all you get is a few words.”

“Some artists are normal people who just happen to make things because we can't figure out how in the hell to communicate with people.”