I think I must be, absolutely, a total sex object. In every sense of the word.

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.

I am still my teenage self. If you think that we all step through a door marked Adult, or that we sign a Grown-Up Document, you’re quite wrong. We remain as we always were, and that, alas, is one of life’s many nasty tricks.

Even now - in the final hour of my life - I'm falling in love again.

Bring me the head of Elton John . . . which is one instance in which meat would not be murder, if it were served on a plate.

It's the refuge for the mentally deficient. It's made by dull people for dull people.

Eating meat is the most disgusting thing I can think of. It's like biting into your grandmother.