I had really bad obsessive-compulsive disorder. At its worst, I was compelled to leave my house at three o'clock in the morning and go out in the alley because I just knew that the paper-towel roll I threw in the recycling bin was uncomfortable, like it was lying the wrong way, and I would be down in the garbage.

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

Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love.

My derring-do allows me to dance the rigadoon around you but by the time I'm close to you I lose my desideratum.

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.

One of my friends said to me, "Oh yeah, of course you aren't writing." So I was like, "The next time you see me, I'm gonna have a new song." I wrote "Criminal" in 45 minutes when everyone else went to lunch because I had to have a hit. I can force myself to do the work, but only if someone is right up behind me.