I Don't Really Have Any Women In

August, The Summer's Last Messenger Of Misery, Is A Hollow Actor.

I Think Of The Thrill Of An Intelligent Woman Talking Just To Me.

The Kid Who Throws His Spaghetti From The High Chair Onto His Father's Face, He's Pushing Back. He's Sticking It To The Man As He Sees It. I Like That. So That Is Punk.

You Must Never Lower Yourself To Being A Person You Don't Like.

If I'm Jetlagging, And I've Missed Some Meals, And It Gets To That Point In A Movie That You're Supposed To Cry, I'll Let My Defences Down From Around My Inherent Standing Level Of Cynicism, And I'll Cry.