The world that has made us can no longer contain us

The other day I was down by the Hudson River, and I see two nuns in full habit rollerblading down the street holding hands. And I'm like, 'Oh, my God, I get it. The world is surreal and beautiful. And everything is fine.'

When I walk through the city, I just think that I see my family. I see us in everybody, you know? I see us.

Even if you're an observer of a story that you yourself made up, you're still very much connected to it. You love it and feel it, no less than somebody's who's writing from their direct 'I' or 'me.' I'm just so much more interesting in stories than confessions.

When you're playing such brilliant music every day, then the last thing you ever want to do is try to write something of your own that's crude and not as good.

Pickle jars are just pickle jars, and pickles are just pickles.

Maybe I am skipping over the city and going from very personal things to the world, from internal experience to giant, far-away-from-space experience.