“I’m an unpure purist, something like that.”

I looked upon myself, in a sort of romantic and silly way, as like a laboratory.

It’s an addiction and addiction is something I should know something about.

You’ve got the sun, you’ve got the moon, and you’ve got the Rolling Stones.

If you say I’m great, thank you very much. But I know what I am. I could be better, man, you know?

Yes, I’ve been trepanned. That’s quite an interesting experience, especially for my brain surgeon, who saw my thoughts flying around in my brain.

You know, the BBC had not been particularly generous in its deliverance of blues and esoteric kinds of music.

Some people think I’m a mythical genius, others think I’m a junkie madman.

The idea of retiring is like killing yourself. It’s almost like Hari Kari. I intend to live to a 100 and go down in history.

I don’t encourage anybody to do what I do, you know? Why should you? More for me!

You get onstage and make other people feel happy. Make them feel good.

I’ve never had a problem with drugs. I’ve had problems with the police.

You can’t accuse me of anything I haven’t already confessed to.

Anything you throw yourself into, you better get yourself out of.

Whatever side I take, I know well that I will be blamed.

It’s great to be here. It’s great to be anywhere.

Songwriting’s a weird game.