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

I think I'm a realist. Which people who don't like me consider to be pessimism. It isn't pessimism at all. If I was a pessimist I wouldn't get up, I wouldn't shave, I wouldn't watch Batman at 7:30 a.m. Pessimists just don't do that sort of thing.

I am stuck in the dream of an album that sells well not because of marketing, but because people like the songs.

It's so shameful of me: I like you.

Well, I am an extremely beautiful person.

For the first time in my life the eternal 'I' becomes 'we', as, finally, I can get on with someone.

I still don't belong to anyone - I am mine.