If anything, a lot of electronic music is music that no one listens to at home, hardly. It's really only to be heard when everyone's out enjoying it.

My favorite time of day is to get up and eat leftovers from dinner, especially spicy food.

Sometimes it's a form of love just to talk to somebody that you have nothing in common with and still be fascinated by their presence.

The imminent demise of the large record companies as gatekeepers of the world's popular music is a good thing, for the most part.

I couldn't talk to people face to face, so I got on stage and started screaming and squealing and twitching.

Cycling can be lonely, but in a good way.

I try to write about small things. Paper, animals, a house... love is kind of big. I have written a love song, though. In this film, I sing it to a lamp.

Analysis is like a lobotomy. Who wants to have all their edges shaved off?

Deep down, I know I have this intuition or instinct that a lot of creative people have, that their demons are also what make them create.

I'm just an advertisement for a version of myself.

I don't care how impossible it seems.

The reason that you are blessed in excess with anything is so that you can give it away to someone else in need.

God has provided food for every bird, but He doesn't throw it in their nests

There is no point reminding you the memories you don't remember.

When moral superiority combines with billowing ignorance, they fill up a hot-air balloon that's awfully hard not to poke.

For me, I want my kids to find their way. If they're interested in something, I want them to try it out.

I have always refused to do something that has offended me. I have been offered potential roles that are totally vulgar.

Look at all the conflict between tribes, nations, and religions. They need their enemies, because they provide the sense of separateness on which their collective egoic identity depends.

As an editor, you're constantly dealing with the best way to convey an exchange between two people. So when I'm shooting, I'm just aware in the back of my head what an editor might want.

Call any vegetable and the chances are good that the vegetable will respond to you.

How sickly grow, How pale, the plants in those ill-fated vales That, circled round with the gigantic heap Of mountains, never felt, nor ever hope To feel, the genial vigor of the sun!