Revolution

Together in our house, in the firelight, we are the world made small.

Life’s all about the revolution, isn’t it? The one inside, I mean. You can’t change history. You can’t change the world. All you can ever change is yourself.

I don't like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It's the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It's bad news. The worst. It's sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it's only a matter of time until someone gets hurt.

For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.

It goes on, this world, stupid and brutal. But I do not. I do not.

There is only one thing I fear now-love. For I have seen it and I have felt it and I know that it is love, not death, that undoes us.

I will rain down silver and gold for you. I will shatter the black night, break it open, and pour out a million stars. Turn away from the darkness, the madness, the pain. Open your eyes and know that I am here. That I remember and hope. Open your eyes and look at the light.

Stop yelling. If everyone’s yelling, no one can be heard.

I will go out again this very night with my rockets and fuses. I will blow them straight out of their comfortable beds. Blow the rooftops off their houses. Blow the black, wretched night to bits. I will not stop. For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.

Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.

History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.

I have done this—made the sad prince laugh. Made his grieving parents smile. None but me. Think you only kings have power? Stand on a stage and hold the hearts of men in your hands. Make them laugh with a gesture, cry with a word. Make them love you. And you will know what power is.

I play until my fingers are blue and stiff from the cold, and then I keep on playing. Until I'm lost in the music. Until I am the music--notes and chords, the melody and harmony. It hurts, but it's okay because when I'm the music, I'm not me. Not sad. Not afraid. Not desperate. Not guilty.

Most of the mess that is called history comes about because kings and presidents cannot be satisfied with a nice chicken and a good loaf of bread.

Turn away. From the darkness, the madness, the pain. Open your eyes and look at the light.

Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge out your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only silence. Indifference. But merely stand looking at the playbills, sighing because your name is not on them, and the devil himself appears at your elbow full of sympathy and suggestions. And that's why I did it....Because God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.

She's got a big belt around her hips. It has a shiny buckle with PRADA on it, which is Italian for insecure.

If I had coal and fire And metal fine and true I’d make an iron band An iron band for you I’d pick up all the pieces From where they fell that day Fit them back together And take the pain away But I don’t have the iron And I don’t have the steel To wrap around your broken heart And teach it how to heal Somewhere in the fire Somewhere in the pain I’d find the magic that I need To make you whole again I’d make the iron band so strong I’d make it gleam so bright I’d fix the things I’ve broken I’d turn my wrongs to right But I don’t have the steel To wrap around your broken heart Wish I could make it heal Wish I could make it heal (Ch. 27)

Who knew that listening to a guy sleep could be so much deeper than sleeping with a guy.

Becuse God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.

Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.

Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.

It's a good thing you and your pills weren't around a few hundred years ago or there never would have been a Vermeer or a Caravaggio. You'd have drugged "Girl with a Pearl Earring" and "The Taking of Christ" right the hell out of them.

The world goes on, stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can't you see? I do not.

The more obscure our tastes, the greater the proof of our genius.

There were nights when I got nothing, [but] I still played. With no one to hear me and no one to pay me, and it did not matter. On those nights, the words were for me alone. They came up unbidden from my heart. They slipped over my tongue and spilled from my mouth. And because of them I, who was nothing and nobody, was a prince of Denmark, a maid of Verona, a queen of Egypt. I was a sour misanthrope, a beetling hypocrite, a conjurer's daughter, a mad and murderous king. It was dark and it was cold on those nights. The world was harsh and I was hungry. Yet I had such joy from the words. Such joy. There were times when I lifted my face to the sky, stretched my arms wide to the winter night, and laughed out loud, so happy was I. The memory of it makes me laugh now, but not from happiness. Be careful what you show the world. You never know when the wolf is watching.

One expects decent people to stand up for the good of all. Decent people shut their doors and hide behind them as decent people do. Massacres could never happen if it weren't for decent people.

Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?

It has an L on it. L for love. See? It's the key to the universe, Dad. You said you were looking for it. You told Mom you were. I found it for you so you don't have to look anymore. So you can come home at night.