Funky like your grandpa's drawers, don't test me We in like that, you're dead like Presley
Beyond here lies nothin' But the mountains of the past
You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
All the money you made will never buy back your soul.
He did ten years in Attica, reading Nietzsche and Wilhelm Reich.
The dirt of gossip blows into my face and the dust rumors cover me. But if the arrow is straight and the point is slick, it can pierce through dust no matter how thick.
You have to work out where your place is. And who you are. But we're all spirit. That's all we are, we're just walking dressed up in a suit of skin, and we're going to leave that behind.
Buildings should serve people, not the other way around.
You've seen the world, and all you've seen is nothing; and everything, as well, that you have said and heard is nothing. You've sprinted everywhere between here and the horizon; it is nothing. And all the possessions you've treasured up at home are nothing.
Jesus. . . associated with the outcasts; he spoke with them, touched them, ate with them, loved them.
If you are wise, You will mingle one thing with the other- Not hoping without doubt; Not doubting without hope.