It's just that romance, with its dips and turns and glooms and highs, its swoops and swoons and blues, is a natural metaphor for music itself

Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.

[...] falling in love with someone beautiful and intelligent and the rest of it, then feeling like a blank twit put you at something of a disadvantage.

...I feel as though I made a face and the wind changed, and now I have to go through life grimacing in this horrible way.

But then, that was the trouble with relationships generally. They had their own temperature and there was no thermostat.

Barry, you're over thirty years old. You owe it to your mum and dad not to sing in a group called Sonic Death Monkey.

When you get older, it feels like happy memories and sad memories are pretty much the same thing. It is all just emotion in the end. And any of it can make you weep.

You had to live in your own bubble. You couldn't force your way into someone else's, because then it wouldn't be a bubble any more.

The outward manifestations of an inner combustion are never very directed.