I had a guitar leaning against the wall and I'd squint at it. It was almost like a dog that had been kicked - I didn't think I had anything to offer it.

I'm in the countryside outside of Paris, in a beautiful old manor house. The studio is in the basement, but we decided to set everything up in the old parlor and dining-room area so we can look at each other and (at) the sunshine coming through the stained-glass windows. It's pretty idyllic, and I think it's spoiling me. I'll have to go back to regular life after this.

I think I prefer the constant renewal. It's almost like sandpapering down any details or any contour of familiarities.

Songwriting is a really fortunate skill to have to frame living and to find new ways to observe things you're going through.

I find it pretty fascinating how humans keep gravitating towards these giant centers. I went to this walled medieval village in France this year, and it was truly the most crazy, beautiful, bizarre place I've ever been.

I haven't been living anywhere because I've been on tour for the past two years.

There's nothing better than not knowing what's going to happen until you put the pieces together.