I guess I'm just a heart-on-sleeve type of human being.

October's gold is dim — the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp.

I don't know what I want, but I know what I don't want: I don't want to just repeat myself.

In terms of writing, I think something happens to you, and you think, "Oh I'm going to write about that. That's an emotional event." But obviously, if you keep going, and it's something you do with regularity, you've got to find other ways to write.

And come, blue deeps! magnificently strown With coloured clouds - large, light, and fugitive.

I guess I'm just a heart-on-sleeve type of human being.

Everything's stolen. Everything precious - be it a kiss, or be it James Brown - gets misappropriated to the aid of the advertising executives. So, an act of reclamation, somewhere else to be: that's what I want my music to be. Somewhere you can step into. A place.