I don't know what everybody else was fantasizing about but what I was fantasizing about was a nine-to-five existence, a house on a tree-lined block with a white picket fence, pink roses in the backyard. [...] After a while you learn that privacy is something you can sell, but you can't buy it back.

People don't value their obscurity. They don't know what it's like to have it taken away.

Just because you like my stuff doesn't mean I owe you anything.

Having these colossal accolades and titles, they get in the way.

What good are fans? You can't eat applause for breakfast. You can't sleep with it.

What of fame? Everybody knows your name: never again are you alone.