Mark Ronson

“The drip from the bathroom faucet thundered through my skull. I turned on the radio, desperately hoping to break the spell. But the announcer’s voice—usually a harmless, chipper drone—now seethed with spite as he read the weather. Every sound around me twisted into a horrific fun house mirror version of itself. And I was trapped inside. Terrified, I got up and stumbled to my mother’s door. “Mummy,” I said, barely holding it together, “I think I’m having some sort of panic attack.” She appeared, half-asleep in her nightshirt. We weren’t a family for hugs, but her voice came soft: “It’s going to be okay.” Those five words of mother’s love made the terror start to drain. I stood for a moment in her gentle presence, and I headed back to bed. I had a few more of those episodes that spring, always in the quiet dark. Since childhood, the night meant good times, so long as it was full of loud music and people. Emptied of that, it showed another side—paranoia, anxiety, and a darkness that could swallow you whole. Something I never wanted to face again. That’s easy enough, I thought: Never be alone at night.”
― Mark Ronson, Night People: How to Be a DJ in '90s New York City

“Don’t hope for a life without problems,” the panda said. “There’s no such thing. Instead, hope for a life full of good problems.”
― Mark Ronson