Corey Taylor Quotes

Bad things happen when good people pretend nothing is wrong.

The future is meant for those who are willing to let go of the worst parts of the past. When you cannot take two steps without turning around to inspect your footsteps, you are getting nowhere fast.

The best friends you will ever have are the ones who don't make you feel like you owe them a damn thing.

Life owes you nothing. You owe yourself everything.

Sin is a matter of opinion. Sins are only sins if you are hurting other people.

Live your life, no matter what that life is.

Before you tell yourself its a different scene remember its just different from what you've seen.

When Paris Hilton can top the bestsellers' lists, we are one more Connect Four move closer to Armageddon.

I want karma to drive stakes into the dark hearts that keep me bitter.

You ever want to feel powerless? Watch the people you care about being hurt and know there is nothing you can do about it.

You have to live in these moments, not for them. If you look too hard, they blow right by you. If you do not live enough, you will regret every breath.

It's amazing and sad what we have to do to survive sometimes.

I may never let go of my wrath, my anger, but I will always have the last laugh.

I bet you a handful of Chili's coupons that Jesus had a foot fetish.

The mind is left bereft when it is nothing more than a tool of regurgitation.

We [human beings] are what happens when smart monkeys fuck.

Watch who you fuck with. You are not always in your territory, even if you think you are.

I think of how and where all the horrible people I've come across in my life ended up, and I smile.

We are a race of peo­ple try­ing to find an­swers, and to me, re­li­gion is kind of like last year’s text­books: out of date with too many notes in the mar­gins from the last fuck­ing guy.

Our proximity keeps us honest. Our intentions keep us strangers.

You cannot kill what you did NOT create

Just because you did not understand us, it did not mean we were wrong.

Music is not a fucking soda. It is not a fucking insurance rate. It is not a fucking T-shirt. It is the only real religion that is worth devoting your soul to. It is the last remnant of the primal scream, the funeral dirge, and the wedding march. It is the light that keeps me out of the shadows, and it is the reason my immortal soul is not in dire straits.

I have come to accept myself for what I am: human. I am not perfect. I am not immune to fate, but I am not automatically doomed for being alive. I feel temptations every second of every day and I am not controlled by them. I do what I want anyway, so who is to say I want anything else? When I want, I let these peculiarities run across me like dogs to their masters. When I do not, I keep them at bay with my will and my testimony. I do not cut myself off from what makes me feel; I just refuse to feel anything that cuts me off from what matters most. It is called will power. With a little practice, you can accomplish great things.

We are defined by our dignity to rise above debasement. We are certainly better people for doing so.

Life is not that simple. That is why it is called life. That word includes both lie and if. Time to figure out which side of the "half" fence you are on: Does your life include a lie or just one big if? There is nothing wrong with either to be honest, but it will make your Sundays longer.

I still harbor lingering doubts about most people. I guess I always will.

It is always the nights you cannot remember that eventually become the stories you don’t forget.

Sometimes you have to be more than a survivor. Sometimes you have to move on.

There is going to come a time when we have to accept who we are without the assistance of religion. That will be the dawn of true faith. We leave the big decisions to invisible consultants and pray we get the answers we are looking for. The late great George Carlin once said he gave up praying to God and started praying to Joe Pesci because his prayers to Joe Pesci were answered with as much accuracy and frequency as those to God. [...] If we as people are still looking for answers, we should turn our eyes away from the heavens and look to each other. I know we do not play well together - hell, some of us do not even like being in the same room with each other - but the divine lies in all of us. We are miracles. We are "god." If we shared a little more, we would not be left feeling less. We hold the keys to our own destinies. It is time we started looking for the locks.

Mistakes? Well, hell, we all make mistakes. And what’s more, we are expected to learn from them. It is part of our journey. It is how we move from innocence to resounding wisdom. It is how we keep from retaining a fucking baby’s psyche well into our nineties. It is how everyone keeps from shitting themselves in public and on each other. It is our ever-learning, ever-adapting GPS for this thing called life.

Take one more deep breath, savor it, and plunge forward without thinking. Do not allow yourself hesitation. Do not allow yourself a moment of doubt. Follow your instincts and go where you never would have considered possible.

I can’t remember who said it, but there’s a great saying that goes, “Dumb should hurt.

A philosopher thinks out loud to make things better for everyone else. Fanatics make themselves louder because they think they are better than everyone else.

Yeah, I crack myself up a lot more than I crack anybody else up, but that is okay. At least I am smart enough to get my own jokes.

I've gotta say what I've gotta say and then I swear I'll go away, but I can't promise you'll enjoy the noise.

Anyone who feels that homosexuality is not only a sin but also a disease or a mental issue should take a look in the mirror and realize who the real crazy person is.

When I asked him the meaning of life, Dr. Webb got very quiet and then told me life has no one meaning, it only has whatever meaning each of us puts on our own life. I'll tell you now that I still don't know the meaning of mine. And Lucas Cader, with all his brains and talent, doesn't know the meaning of his, either. But I'll tell you the meaning of all this. The meaning of some bird showing up and some boy disappearing and you knowing all about it. The meaning of this was not to save you, but to warn you instead. To warn you of confusion and delusion and assumption. To warn you of psychics and zombies and ghosts of your lost brother. To warn you of Ada Taylor and her sympathy and mothers who wake you up with vacuums. To warn you of two-foot-tall birds that say they can help, but never do.

Live your life; whatever that life may be.

If the world’s going to end someday, I was kind of hoping the soundtrack wouldn’t suck so fucking bad. But when the melodies are electronically corrected and the humanity has been sucked clean, it makes me beg for the apocalypse.

Ada Taylor knelt beside me on the floor as I cried for the first time over the thought that my favorite person in the world was probably dead.

emulation is a sincere form of flattery, but individuality is the only form of immortality.

People have just as much capacity to be good as they do to be shit. It's a choice. People make choices. So they need to make better fucking choices.

You’re all so glued to your phones, tablets, and computers that life isn’t even running away from you at this point; it’s strolling, taking its own sweet time because it knows damn well you’re not going to pull your nose out of your Facebook page long enough to realize it’s already gone.

The best friends you will ever have are the ones who do not make you feel like you owe them a damn thing.

Pride is love for one’s deeds or achievements. Vanity is love for one’s . . . one, I guess.

As passion goes, wrath—or rage—is nearly indistinguishable from love in its intensity, the two epic ends of the maelstrom that makes us human.

I haven’t been everywhere, but I’ve been to enough “wheres” to know that Earth has pockets of stupid popping up north, south, east, and west. From the equator to the prime meridian—dumb does not so easily wash off.

I will not be a man satisfied until I am a man exhausted.

I sin like crazy, but I protect my people.

You can have the best intentions in the world, but if you do nothing, you are nothing. It is a harsh glare to shed that kind of light, but in my heart that is pure reality for me. How does the quote go? “Evil triumphs when good men do nothing.” This is the downside to the longevity of sloth. It is an exit on a highway that leads to the worst parts of town.

It’s a confusing fucking time in the world today. People still hate as much for color and twice as much for creed. They kill each other for gods they’ve never met. They hurt their women according to books written by those who might not have known any better. They hate based on biased faith instead of understanding based on accessible fact.

Bad music is a form of murder to the true art of music in general.Bad music forced on a child is abuse because it invariably forms that child´s taste in music. Bad music has raped an industry that was held up strongly by great expression for decades but now finds itself floundering, giving in to the lowest common denominator of music just to keep its panties around its waist. Bad music tortures the eardrums and kills little bits of your senses through prolonged exposure. Bad music steals money from shallow pockets, steals airtime from more deserving bands and songwriters, and steals the spotlight from undiscovered geniuses who have all but given up on a dream because of the mediocrity of popular radio. Bad music is a lie, and yet it is foisted on the public in an attempt to turn melodies and songs into hamburgers and fries. Bad music is truly a sin because you don´t have to be exceptional to make it in the music industry anymore. You just have to be good enough to stick around and be tolerated. I understand that bad music is a matter of opinion. I know that. But I am fairly confident that more people agree with me than you suspect. Bad music is just fucking bad.

Rage is not a sin, but it can be the trigger that makes us commit sins. The real problem comes when we bottle up emotion and ignore the fact that we need to let ourselves be angry. Bad things happen when good people pretend nothing is wrong.

I am a man ruled by music- I live, die, fight and survive for it.

The wheels on the bus may go ’round and ’round, but that bus might run you over if the driver gets fired.

An expert is nothing more than a vain person who has read a book.

So many people in the world would rather stay in a situation that's painful but familiar because they're comfortable with it. Not a lot of people have the strength or heart to realize when something's not good for them and to turn around and be alone.

Everything you feel is temporary.

Things can get tough out there. I am in no way saying life is easy and we should breeze through it like a fart through silk filter; we are going to take our lumps and deal with our own unique adversity. What I am saying is that in all the chaos, remember to breathe, remember to smile, and remember that the only time to panic is when there is truly no tomorrow. Fortunately for the majority of us, tomorrow will always meet us in the morning with a cup of coffee and a fresh deck of cigarettes, ready to crack it's cocoon and mature into today. So ease the grip on your moralities and be yourself. Fantastic is really just the flaws. Nobody is perfect - not you, not me, not Jesus, Buddha, Jehovah, not God. But the great thing is that you do not have to be perfect to be alive, and that is what makes life absolutely perfect.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t enjoy your drive; what I am saying is that other drivers are trying to enjoy their drives as well. Do not make it someone else’s responsibility to pay attention for you. It’s your car—do the driving. Oh, and one more fucking thing … USE YOUR FuckING TURN SIGNAL.

Anything exceptional gets crushed by common people with jealousy and ignorance and all their common evils.

Some would rather leave humanity alone, which begs the question: Which is the bigger sin, rage or fear?

St. Jude is the patron saint of lost causes. But no cause is lost if there is still one person devoted to it. So Jude might as well be the patron saint of us all.

Life sucks, so grab a straw and suck it.

You have to live HAVOC to understand havoc

It’s amazing and sad what we have to do to survive sometimes.” —Corey Taylor

Hey, I’m going to go inside this place and blow my brains out on alcohol, thereby killing my brain cells and liver while also doing damage to other vital organs. I might even do some blow in the bathroom. But those other fuckers better go outside to SMOKE!” Fuckin’ savages …

We have stopped giving adulation to the truly talented and started giving it to the truly average in the hope that by lowering the bar, we ourselves might be eligible for the fame and glory.

Why”: Where do you even start to answer that simple one-word quandary? As huge as our souls are purported to be, what fills us with a bigger satisfaction—love or revenge? Would we rather give it all or take it all?

Paint your Easter egg any color you want—we were accidents of evolution. We are a combination of aberrant cell growth, electrical synapse activity, and unbelievable luck. We are what happens when smart monkeys fuck.

Life's not the Internet, fuckholes! Life doesn't sway or give when you try to force it to give you what you crave, whether it's a lover or a liver transplant. Because of life, you learn to roll wit the punches, even if you have to take a few head shots before you find out the hard way.

High school is meant to be socialism for beginners. Instead, it becomes a strange TV movie for the feudal system. You end up with a commingling of everything bad in the world.

But even compared to my fashion disasters, this guy looked like a douche pickle soaked in toilet water.

But I am no Lord of the Hill; these hands pitching fastballs at glass houses are just as dirty as yours are.

When everything's offensive, then nothing will be.

The difference between knowing yourself and trusting yourself is minute, but its repercussions are infinite.

Being around stupid, callous people makes me feel like I have the flu:

The pale fabric of reality has so many hidden pockets that we can find some change in here somewhere - you just have to dig a little deeper to avoid the chewing gum and past mistakes.

What is left in its place appears to be a person who has about as much use as a door with no handles or hinges. Do you know what a door like that is called? A wall—hence the saying “dumber than a brick wall.

Here lies the separation of stupidity and incompetence. If you’re stupid, you just didn’t understand what happened and then make adjustments. If you’re incompetent, you never bothered to learn in the first place. So the incompetent man keeps doing dumb shit even after he’s cautioned not to.

I just want you to want what has always been yours to have. The way is never shut if the light you seek is bright enough. If you are feeling a little dark, you can always change the bulb. Never let the limits of your understanding dictate how far you can go. We can be better. We can just be. Trust me- it's as simple as that.

But I am no Lord of the Hill; these hands pitching fastballs at glass houses are just as dirty as yours are. However, there are a lot of exemptions in my favor. One, much of my calamitous behavior occurred prior to the Digital Age, so no footage or real proof exists (thank fuck) and can only be found in hearsay and interviews. Two, I understand the difference between “getting it out of your system” when you are young and not giving a shit outright about making buffoonery seem like a career and not an aberration as you get old enough to actually know better. Three—and this is most important—it is my book, so I can do no wrong. Shit happens; it just so happens to be yours and not mine. So guess what? Even if you are not devoid of gray matter, even if you are not technically by definition bereft of intuitive mental faculties, you are all guilty by association. This is a RICO case, and I am the district attorney in charge of bringing justice to the world. I may not be infallible, but I can wear a suit and use big words, and it won’t even look like someone put peanut butter on the roof of my mouth.

Can you imagine how boring life would be without the seven little spices? you talk about sloth, but why would men and women get out of bed if there were no lust? Why would people want to be in a band if they couldn't feel the rush that rage bring to the musical table? Why would anyone want to be a bleeding heart without even a hint of greed in their dirty little soul? Why would the world go round if there weren't a few rules to break? A few revolutions to make? Let's put it this way: Why would you want to take a deep breath if you were expected to hold the damn thing?

I stood for a second staring at this imbecile, feeling like a burned-out sentinel watching the meteor streak toward the planet, bracing himself for the lethal impact. The Devil’s Whisper—the fart that happens just before you run for the bathroom to expel your waste—still hung in the air like the Grim Reaper blowing you a kiss as he passes by. I was too stunned to speak and too incensed to stutter. But I’m glad I was there, for as I regarded this kiddy pool of a grown child lying in a horrific amalgam of Technicolor Yawn, top soil, and literal shit, certain things started to occur to me: contemplation of my own misdeeds, realization that if I didn’t rein in my own uncontrollable urges, I might end up looking as pathetic as this pain in my ass. All of this shot through my big-ass brain in what felt like an eternity but in actuality was possibly just a millisecond. In that moment of clarity a tone was set. I also remembered how early it was in the morning. So I did what anyone with half an IQ would have done in my shabby shoes.

The best way to make God laugh is to announce your plans out loud.

His behavior wasn’t helping his Q points at all. He’d been making attempts to engage in conversation with almost everyone, but once he joined a group, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, leaning in a little too close, staring alternately right into your eyes and directly into your chest, leaving the cluster of folks mired with uncomfortable silence and bad breath. When he did say something, all he did was try to pimp his band. But it all came out garbled in vowel sounds and hand gestures. It was as if a rookie mime wanted to hand you a demo tape. At

In retrospect I can only call it a party in passing. If I can be completely frank, I’ve had crazier bowel movements.

I found myself sitting in the middle of a bedroom floor surrounded by atavistic morons, with a redhead on opiates who was convinced she could read my thoughts and tell me my future. That would have been simple: the future had me trying to escape this fucking awful “party.” The redhead, who we will call Janice, was equal parts pretentious, innocuous, and full of shit. Janice was an actress (an actress in LA . . . what were the odds?) and was trying out for a role in a health food commercial. Judging by the shape she was in, I could have told her that she had an ice cube’s chance in Cuba of making that dream a reality. She looked more like Wynonna Judd than Julianne Moore, complete with the face of a long-haired Clint Eastwood squinting into the desert sun. But being a respectful prick, I kept it to myself, kindly wished her luck in her endeavors, and made to take my leave of it all, grabbing for the front doorknob with one hand and dialing for a cab on my cell phone with the other. Unfortunately Janice wasn’t done with me, much to my chagrin. I explained to her I was leaving; she asked whether she could catch a ride back to her apartment. Knowing full well that nothing was going to happen with this person, I said sure.

When he did say something, all he did was try to pimp his band. But it all came out garbled in vowel sounds and hand gestures. It was as if a rookie mime wanted to hand you a demo tape.

They have no shame. They don’t care that they are spreading moronic activity like a virus across the landscape. They don’t give a flying fuck that this shit looks like a live feed from a mental hospital; they just want enough time to throw a bandage on the head wound so they can immediately check to see how many hits the video received in the last twenty seconds. If they took another twenty seconds to watch the video, they might realize they have a concussion.

This was like an episode of Cop Rock—so bad you can’t take your eyes off of it. It was a novel sensation because normally I was the one who’d screwed the karmic pooch a little too long and was inevitably caught with his dick in the dog. But that wasn’t the case this time. I was going to enjoy it . . . or so I thought.

Even if you have your ticket and your ID in your hand, people who normally have a firm grasp of how NEXT IN LINE works now falter and pause, unsure whether it’s their turn to go. I’ve seen virgins more self-assured while fumbling at three-hook bras.

Lego, ergo sum

I haven’t been everywhere, but I’ve been to enough “wheres” to know that Earth has pockets of stupid popping up north, south, east, and west. From the equator to the prime meridian—dumb does not so easily wash off. The

I won’t have to deal with the smashing, the smushing, the ramming and the cramming, the arguments and the impudence.

We all need to be individuals, to stand out in the crowd, and to be heard in the convex confines of the herd. It's the price we pay for free will that keeps us apart and unwilling to read or, for that matter, be on the same page. We'll never be able to get out of our own ways long enough to see the other's point of view because we're all so fucking busy paying more attention to the sounds of our own voices than to what the other person is saying. We're always more impressed with our retorts than the rest of the conversation. The whole time the opponent is talking we're just thinking about what we're going to say in reply; we don't even hear the other side of it.

We all need to be individuals, to stand out in the crowd, and to be heard in the convex confines of the herd. It's the price we pay for free will that keeps us apart and unwilling to read or, for that matter, be on the same page. We'll never be able to get out of our own ways long enough to see the other's point of view because we're all so fucking busy paying more attention to the sounds of our own voices than to what the other person is saying. We're always more impressed with our retorts than the rest of the conversation. The whole time the opponent is talking we're just thinking about what we're going to say in reply; we don't even hear the other side of it.

Me legit, ergo sum.

Me legit, ergo sum.