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“Hey, Sethy! If I could bottle and sell the way I'm feeling right now, I think I'd make enough money to buy Kurt Cobain's soul back from the devil”
-Kaye”
― Charlie Fey, Easy "A"

“Just because you're paranoid
don't mean they're not after you.”
― Kurt Cobain, [Kurt Cobain: Journals] [By: Cobain, Kurt] [November, 2003]

“Every wet nurse refused to feed him
Electrolytes smell like semen
I promise not to sell your perfumed secrets
There are countless formulas for pressing flowers”
― Kurt Cobain

“Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.     —Kurt Cobain; you know who this one is, right? When”
― Jen Sincero, You Are a Badass®: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life

“Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.     —Kurt Cobain;”
― Jen Sincero, You Are a Badass®: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life

“Being unemployed, Kurt set in motion a routine that he would follow for the rest of his life. He would rise at around noon and eat a brunch of sorts. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese was his favorite food. After eating, he would spend the rest of the day doing one of three things: watching television, which he did unceasingly; practicing his guitar, which he did for hours a day, usually while watching TV; or creating some kind of art project, be it a painting, collage, or three-dimensional installation. This last activity was never formal— he rarely identified himself as an artist—yet he spent hours in this manner.”
― Charles R. Cross, Heavier Than Heaven: A Biography of Kurt Cobain

“Mejor quemarse que apagarse lentamente.”
― Kurt Cobain

“I won't stop writing until I am known as the Kurt Cobain of literature!”
― Christina Westover

“Though Kurt would later claim that his graffiti messages were political, in fact, most of what he wrote was nonsensical. He enraged a neighbor with a boat by painting “Boat Ack” in red letters on the ship’s hull; on the other side he lettered, “Boat people go home.”
― Charles R. Cross, Heavier Than Heaven: A Biography of Kurt Cobain

“With Eyes Like Charles Manson, a life similar to H.P Lovecraft, and lyrics like Edgar Allan Poe, Kurt Cobain was the master of horror in music.”
― Chris Mentillo

“This is the part they don’t tell you about in the movies. Or in On the Road. This is not rock ’n’ roll.

You are not William Burroughs, and it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference if Kurt Cobain was slumped over in an alleyway in Seattle the day Bleach came out. There is no junkie chic. This is not Soho and you are not Sid Vicious. You are not a drugstore cowboy and you are not spotting trains. You are not a part of anything—no underground sect, no counter-culture movement, no music scene, nothing. You have just been released from jail and are walking down Mission Street, alternating between taking a hit off a cigarette and puking, looking for coins on the ground so you can catch a bus as you shit yourself.”
― Joe Clifford, Junkie Love

“On March 31, 1994, I went to LAX to catch a flight from L.A. to Seattle. Kurt Cobain was waiting to take the same flight. We started talking. He had just skipped out of a rehab facility. We were both fucked up. We ended up getting seats next to each other and talking the whole way, but we didn’t delve into certain things: I was in my hell and he was in his, and we both seemed to understand.”
― Duff McKagan, It's So Easy: And Other Lies

“The Buried Bishop’s a gridlocked scrum, an all-you-can-eat of youth: ‘Stephen Hawking and the Dalai Lama, right; they posit a unified truth’; short denim skirts, Gap and Next shirts, Kurt Cobain cardigans, black Levi’s; ‘Did you see that oversexed pig by the loos, undressing me with his eyes?’; that song by the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl booms in my diaphragm and knees; ‘Like, my only charity shop bargains were headlice, scabies, and fleas’; a fug of hairspray, sweat and Lynx, Chanel No. 5, and smoke; well-tended teeth with zero fillings, revealed by the so-so joke — ‘Have you heard the news about Schrodinger’s Cat? It died today; wait — it didn’t, did, didn’t, did…’; high-volume discourse on who’s the best Bond … Sartre, Bart Simpson, Barthes’s myths; ‘Make mine a double’; George Michael’s stubble; ‘Like, music expired with the Smiths’; and futures all starry; fetal think-tankers, judges, and bankers…power and money, like Pooh Bear and honey, stick fast — I don’t knock it, it’s me; and speaking of loins, ‘Has anyone told you you look like Demi Moore from Ghost?’; roses are red and violets are blue, I’ve a surplus of butter and Ness is warm toast.”
― David Mitchell

“I have a daughter who reminds me too much of what I used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function. —KURT COBAIN, in his suicide note”
― David Sheff, Beautiful Boy: A Heartbreaking Memoir of a Father's Struggle with His Son's Addiction and the Journey to Recovery

“As she limped down the stairs, she considered all the drugs in her backpack. Tramadol, methadone, ketamine, buprenorphine. Mix them all into a pint of tequila and she could get a front-row seat to Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse talking about what a douche Jim Morrison could be.”
― Karin Slaughter, False Witness

“Like most babies smell like butter
His smell smelled like no other
He was born scentless and senseless
He was born a scentless apprentice”
― Kurt Cobain

“I lie in the soil and fertilize mushrooms
Leaking out gas fumes are made into perfume
You can't fire me because I quit
Throw me in the fire and I won't throw a fit”
― Kurt Cobain

“The message was clear for baby boomers everywhere: Kurt Cobain was not merely some rock 'n' roll icon who couldn't handle drugs. In ways that were important to recognize, he was every parent's child.”
― Kurt St. Thomas, Nirvana: The Chosen Rejects

“It hurts when you have to press that dull little thing
That you're only supposed to use once and then discard
Where do you put it? In the garbage can, my honest friend
My shyness, pet her flow
She's only been five months late
Even though we haven't had sex for a week
A meal a day, a meal, I say
And my heart's made, my—”
― Kurt Cobain