Men speak of killing time, while time silently kills them

Many seek the truth, not because it is lost
Becasue they are

When breathing's just a waste of breath
And living's just a waste of death

We're not the three of us anymore. We're one, and one, and one.

"And years from now, when we don't know each other anymore, you'll think of me and you'll call me," she joked.
"That won't happen!" I said, "We'll be friends forever."
The words sounded hollow, even to me.

Music is your experiances, your thoughts, your wisdom. If you don't live it, it won't come out of your horn.

"Grow up," someone said, and they did, and they got to join the club, buy the house, own the cars and the pool. The only trade-off -- you have to give up the costumes and the laughing.

The photographs were arranged in groups as if of an extemded family, thought they seemed completely alien to one anohter, with nothing in common except the luminouse blindness that only portraits of the dead seem to acquire.

Time goes you say?
Ah no!
Alas, Time stays, we go.

Night and morning are making promises to eachother which neither will be able to keep.