Sometimes the song isn't strong enough to contain the fiction, because memories are fictions.

There are times when I think I can sing it better, but usually I find that I can't.

I'm kind of old-school and love nothing more than sitting, opening a book, and reading it. But I also love listening to audio books.

It's a wonderful life if you can find it.

And I wish that I was made of stone So that I would not have to see A beauty impossible to define A beauty impossible to believe A beauty impossible to endure The blood imparted in little sips The smell of you still on my hands As I bring the cup up to my lips No God up in the sky No devil beneath the sea Could do the job that you did, baby Of bringing me to my knees

If you're Australian, you feel it in your bones because you're at odds with everybody else, except other Australians, in the sense that people always seem to be behaving strangely. People always seem to be behaving the wrong way, in a different way. You say things and there are silences.

I think it's an essential fact for any performer or artist to fail as poignantly as they can succeed.