These tears I'm wailing, I spill not without reason. Remove them, my dearest love. Take me to the place I've been dreaming of, where the grotesquely lonely meet the grotesquely lonely and they whisper, just very softly, Please be mine, Dearest Love.

America is not the world.

It begins in the heart...and it hurts when it's true. It only hurts because it's true.

Singers attract fans with aspects of their own personality. People feel I'm passionate and obsessive. They know this isn't a profession for me, it's a vocation. It's not an egotistical thing, but something else. I'm in a dialogue with my audience, and that's something I need

I'm tired again, I've tried again, and now my heart is full. And I just can't explain...so I won't even try to.

My childhood is streets upon streets upon streets upon streets. Streets to define you and streets to confine you, with no sign of motorway, freeway or highway.

I am hated for loving. I am haunted for wanting.