But if you're gonna dine with them cannibals Sooner or later, darling, you're gonna get eaten . . .

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

People think I'm a miserable sod but it's only because I get asked such bloody miserable questions.

But if you're gonna dine with them cannibals Sooner or later, darling, you're gonna get eaten . . .

Texting is apocalyptic on some level. It's a reduction of things.

Writing screenplays makes me a better musician because it clears my head. After writing a movie, I go running back to music as fast as I can.

My biggest fear is losing memory because memory is what we are. Your very soul and your very reason to be alive is tied up in memory.