I'm so hard on myself. I play these sketches in my computer for friends and they say 'Gee whiz, the vocal's beautiful.' I hear, 'It needs to be better.'

There's always a price for what you want.

Cold allowed precision, heat threw caution aside and plunged in rampantly. Cold was the process of deliberation and planning, heat the result of unbridled passion. Passion was fine, but only when controlled and channeled properly.

I have to recognize the boundaries and operate within them. I put down my gun, I don’t solve anything, I just get unilaterally disarmed and become an easier target. I.

If by dying for the cause you’re going straight to Paradise to sit at your thundering god’s right hand, death doesn’t mean a whole lot.” “Are people really that stupid?” “That’s a rhetorical question, right?

I’m just guessing without a full autopsy, but I’d say that Rama here is considerably dead, and the cause probably an explosive carbine round to the head.

It goes to the inaccuracy of statistics. Statistics say a man with one foot on a hot stove and the other on a block of ice is, on average, comfortable.” “This also makes no sense.

No hesitation, no qualms, move until you prevail or you cannot move anymore, whichever comes first.

Consider the logistics of a god who has eight arms and three penises coupling with a goddess who has four arms and nine vaginas.

I’m the least among us when it comes to fighting, slower and older. But why I am still here is that I know that, and compensate for it. “Old and treacherous beats young and strong every time.