“How is it, Chloe, that your pretty skirt
Is torn so badly by the winds that hurt
Real people, you who, in eternity, sing
The hours, sun in your hair appearing
And disappearing? How is that your breasts
Are pierced by shrapnel, and the oak groves burn,
While you, charmed, caring not at all, turn
To run through forests of machinery and concrete
And haunt us with the echoes of your feet?”

“As it turns out, you can function while your heart is being torn to shreds.”

“And the wind will whip your tousled hair,
The sun, the rain, the sweet despair,
Great tales of love and strife.
And somewhere on your path to glory
You will write your story of a life.”

“Chris Rock: I love the story of how you turned down an offer to appear in Michael Jackson's music video for, Bad.
Prince: You know that Wesley Snipes character? That would've been me. Now you run that video in your mind. The first line in that song is "your butt is mine." Now I said to Michael, who's gonna sing that to whom? 'Cause you sure ain't singing it to me and I sure ain't singing it to you so right there we got a problem.”

“How the girls could turn to ghosts before your eyes
And the very dreams that led to them are keeping them from dying
And how the grace with which she walked into your life
Will stay with you in your steps,
And pace with you a while
So long, so long.”

“Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flower
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?
'God!' let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, 'God!'
'God! ' sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, 'God!'.”

“Snap your fingers and somebody runs / You don't care how they feel just as long as they come / Got your head in the stars now you've come this far / Just who do you think you are?”

“Run a hand through your hair, like the white boys do, even though the only thing that runs easily through your hair is Africa.”

“No matter how big the size of the sun may appear to your imagination, but it will still fit into the scope of your eye.”

“Every time I see you, all the rays of the sun
Are streaming through the waves in your hair
And every star in the sky is taking aim at your eyes
Like a spotlight.”