If I had spent fourteen months in a small room with Jesus, I'd want to fist fight with him.

Rock and Roll is still asking people like me to live up to the old guard's concept of what success is but it doesn't mean anything.

I'm attacking the pomposity that says this is more valuable than that. I'm sick of that.

When alternative music - which is supposed to be the standard-bearer of where white rock is headed - becomes either too cute or too manufactured, that's just really not good.

There is something mighty suspicious about declaring an emergency for something that has yet to show itself to be a grand pandemic.

I don't have any sentimental notion about how people are going to remember me.

As far as a theoretical point of view for my generation, I'm probably the most successful theoretician. I mean, double albums and concepts and dresses and major disasters and wonderful successes and yet you don't see the critical review of my work. Why? Because it's all focused on the persona. Billy Corgan. But I get to sort of jump in and be Billy Corgan. But then I get to sort of jump back out and be like, sensitive man in the corner.