I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I'm miserable now.

This world, I am afraid, is designed for crashing bores.

Shyness is nice, but shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life that you'd like to.

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.

In England, pop music seems now to be exclusively for children. If an artist is no good, why is it necessary to have that artist repeatedly rammed in our face?

It may all end tomorrow, or it could go on forever (in which case I'm doomed).

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