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

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.

He drove me home in the van, complaining, 'Women only like me for my mind'.

The Internet has obviously wiped music off the human map - killed the record shop, and killed the patience of labels who consider debut sales of 300,000 to not be good enough.

We hate it when our friends become successful.

My parents were worried about me, certainly when I became so deeply interested in music and people like the New York Dolls who, at the time, were very peculiar indeed.

I can smell burning flesh... and I hope to God it's human.