I'm not religious, I'm not romantic and I live purely by logic. I make every decision by logic and sometimes that leads me to the right and sometimes to the wrong decision.

If I don't have an outlet in which to express myself...throug h songwriting or other mediums...I get a bit jittery.

A friend is a friend forever And a good one will never leave, never

I'm a bit of a magpie: whatever I see or hear or read feeds into the songs.

Oh! To not need cognitive justification for every single thing. Wouldn't that be a life?

I was an incredibly misanthrope. I couldn't relate to people my age, and I'm not sure why, as I wasn't particularly smart or interesting

I feel sometimes that I'm in a constant state of being lost in translation, and I guess that why I write songs.

Womanhood is something you don't consider until it hits you.

Age is relative. Experience is relative. And I think often intensity is confused with maturity.

It took a lot of time and practice for me to realise that there's no point trying to be something you're not.

No one starts playing my kind of music to make a fortune. But I do want to keep doing what I do and I do want to continue selling records. And I would, eventually, quite like some money.

In an age of iPhones and Playstations, it's great to see that somebody's still rocking the bus-on-a-string.

I don't believe in charmed lives. I think that tragedy is part of the lesson you learn to lift yourself up, to pick yourself up and to move on.

The station was tight, aggressive ... the deejays at times sounding as if they were broadcasting at gunpoint.

I write to try to understand, and because I have nothing better to do.

I owe a lot to my parents.

The only weapons I ever had were my cello and my baton.

It might be funny when you get hit by a car, but not when you get run over by one.

It was never my first choice to be a singer/guitar player. I really wanted to play drums.

I had always assumed that people were interested in economic affairs, just as I was. My assumption was justified. The times caught up with me. I was ready. I was there.

When guilt is in its blush of infancy, it trembles in a tenderness of shame; and the first eye that pierces through the veil that hides the secret brings it to the face