On Sofia Coppola's 16th birthday, way back in 1987, I stole a lip gloss from her Sistine Chapel of a bedroom. Years later, I left a Chanel lip gloss in the reception of the Mercer Hotel for her. You know why? I believe that you've got to fix your karma.

The American public really does have a death wish for me. They want me to die. I'm not going to die.

Unless there are pictures, I don't admit to anything.

You couldn’t pay me a billion dollars to take marijuana. I don’t really like coke anymore. I’m scared of ecstasy. The one drug I'd like to try one day is Ayahuasca, which should be mandatory for everybody. It’s apparently this crazy tea that gives you these intense hallucinations. Everyone who takes it sees a wise old black man who takes you on a wild journey. I’m not going to name names, but everyone who takes it sees the same black guy. I'm not kidding you. Everyone!

The road of rock and roll (much like life) is littered with broken dreams and death. And it's our job to overcome these and to survive.

Songs need to have a secret, cryptic, thematic thing about them, otherwise they are just messy and all over the place.

If you (the press) lie about us, I will hit you, Kurt will shoot you, and we both will sue.