By the mid-'80s, it was really apparent to me that I really needed to stop losing myself in my work and in my addictions. What happens is you just wake up one morning and feel absolutely dead. You can't even drag your soul back into your body. You feel you have negated everything that is wonderful about life. When you have fallen that far, it feels like a miracle when you regain your love of life.

I went mainstream in a major way with the song "Let's Dance." And what I found I had done was put a box around myself. It was very hard for people to see me as anything other than the person in the suit who did "Let's Dance," and it was driving me mad - because it took all my passion for experimenting away.

Music itself is going to become like running water or electricity. So it's like, just take advantage of these last few years because none of this is ever going to happen again. You'd better be prepared for doing a lot of touring because that's really the only unique situation that's going to be left.

I'm regarded quite asexually by a lot of people. And the people that understand me the best are nearer to what I understand about me.

I went through all the musicians in my life who I admire as bright, intelligent, virtuosic players.

If I put faith in medication, if I can smile a crooked smile, if I can talk on television, if I can walk an empty mile.

My father worked for a children's home called Dr. Barnardo's Homes. They're a charity.