“I’m a very emotional person, a person of real extremes, and that’s often destructive both to me and others.”

The reason we’re successful, darling? My overall charisma, of course.

Success is my breathing space. I brought it on myself. I will price it, I will cash it, I can take it or leave it. Loneliness is my hiding place, breastfeeding myself. What more can I say? I have swallowed the bitter pill, I can taste it. Life is real.

But touch my tears, with your lips. Touch my world, with your fingertips. And we can have forever. And we can love forever. Forever is our today.

I was never too keen on the British music press. They’ve called us a supermarket hype, and they used to suggest that we didn’t write our own songs.

We should never be disappointed with money; Because we only get what we have got.

My soul has painted like the wings of butterflies, Fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends

I always knew I was a star. And now, the rest of the world seems to agree with me.

I fall in love much too quickly and that results in me getting badly hurt. The problem with love is that you lose control and that is a very vulnerable state to be in.

Too much love will kill you just as sure as none at all.

We’re a very expensive group; we break a lot of rules. It’s unheard of to combine opera with a rock theme, my dear.

A concert is not a live rendition of our album. It’s a theatrical event.

When we began, we approached it the way we did because we were not prepared to be out-of-work musicians, ever. We said either take it on as a serious commodity or don’t do it at all.

I have fun with my clothes onstage; it’s not a concert you’re seeing, it’s a fashion show.

I won’t be a rockstar. I will be a legend.

I love the fact that I can make people happy, in any form. Even if it’s just an hour of their lives, if I can make them feel lucky or make them feel good, or bring a smile to a sour face, that to me is worthwhile.

Modern paintings are like women, you’ll never enjoy them if you try to understand them.

We can never know, for the good reason that writing is the destruction of every voice, every origin. Writing is that neuter, that composite, that obliquity into which our subject flees, the black-and-white where all identity is lost, beginning with the very identity of the body that writes.

Suicide is not an answer, it’s destruction.

Love is a flame that burns everything other than itself. It is the destruction of all that is false and the fulfillment of all that is true.

For me, love carries the seeds of its own destruction.

Only when the last tree has died and the last river been poisoned and the last fish been caught will we realise we cannot eat money.

These scars bear witness but whether to repair or to destruction I no longer know.

Nature allows Destruction nor collapse of aught, until Some outward force may shatter by a blow, Or inward craft, entering its hollow cells, Dissolve it down.

This will make the transition happen with less death and destruction.