You talk about us young people, you condamn us, but you don't know that for a friend who dies, we are able to cry on our torn bluejeans and behind our long hair we know how to remember him. We are not afraid to die, because we know that someone will cry for us, our drifter friends and not certainly you, civil people who don't even have the time to cry.
Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null, dead perfection, no more.
"I look up, there are the stars, just the same, desolation, and the angels below who don't know they're angels...
And Sarina will die.
And I will die, and you will die, and we all will die, and even the stars will fade out one after another in time."
I lost the joy of living. Better leave with a burst of flame than die day by day. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I'm having 100% fun. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasm I once had as a child. Also my music is not authentic anymore.
At his grave as well to all those on which I cried, my pain was also dedicated to that part of me that was buried in it.
When we'll die, we'll certainly go to heaven because we have already lived hell in here.
I don't want to achieve immortality through my work; I want to achieve immortality through not dying. I don't want to live on in the hearts of my countrymen; I want to live on in my apartment.
We must be happy to die if we can't live like free men or women.
And remember, I'll be there. I'll be up in the air. So sometimes, if you want to talk to me, put yourself in a corner, close your eyes and look for me. We can talk. But not in a wordy language. In silence.
There's nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don't live up until their death. They don't honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can't hear it. Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die.