These days I don't know who really likes me. I always assume most people are bullshitting me.

My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within, but then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full and sank in the burrows of my keep, and all my armor, falling down, in a pile at my feet.

I'm not turned on, so put away that meat you're selling.

In a strange way, I'm way more comfortable onstage than anywhere else.

But I honestly don't read critics. My dad reads absolutely everything ever written about me. He calls me up to read ecstatic reviews, but I always insist that I can't hear them. If you give value to the good reviews, you have to give value to the criticism.

I don't think what I look like is relevant.

I'm a really good parent to myself sometimes, and I do things that make me learn and grow.