There is a dignity associated with people, no matter where the hell they come from — whether they come from Italy or Ireland or Germany or Asia or Africa.

The movement has perfected a rarefied form of America’s addiction to self-rule, which denies much of our humanity: our fragile bodies, our finitude, our need to stare down our deaths (at least once in a while) and be filled with dread and wonder. At some point, we must say to ourselves, I’m going to need to let go.

My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself. There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.

I have come to realize the extraordinary capacity for evil that all of us have because we have now heard the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and there have been revelations of horrendous atrocities that people have committed. Any and every one of us could have perpetrated those atrocities. The people who were perpetrators of the most gruesome things didn’t have horns, didn’t have tails. They were ordinary human beings like you and me. That’s the one thing. Devastating! But the other, more exhilarating than anything that I have ever experienced — and something I hadn’t expected — to discover that we have an extraordinary capacity for good. People who suffered untold misery, people who should have been riddled with bitterness, resentment and anger come to the Commission and exhibit an extraordinary magnanimity and nobility of spirit in their willingness to forgive, and to say, “Hah! Human beings actually are fundamentally good.” Human beings are fundamentally good. The aberration, in fact, is the evil one, for God created us ultimately for God, for goodness, for laughter, for joy, for compassion, for caring.

To just chill out and not worry. Growing up, I worried about every little thing. I was like, "oh I'm not good enough, I'm not confident enough, I'm not pretty enough, I'm not this and that." I would cry about my appearance, and cry about a bunch of things that don't matter to me now. I would just say, the stuff that matters now won’t matter in a few years, and just chill out and enjoy your life.

When I walk into rooms to write, I just try to make it about enjoying it and having fun rather than thinking about it too hard… But I think it's fun and so much more rewarding when you go in with no plan and just follow your gut and it works.

Yes, for a lot of my life actually. It’s always been something I’ve struggled with, even now. My relationship with sleep and nighttime has affected me in so many ways, in more ways than I knew. So, I decided to write about it.

If you're not taking care of yourself, it's almost impossible to try to help others take care of themselves.

People think that to be a pop star you have to look a certain way. I want to show people that there’s an alternative.

Amy Winehouse. I love everything about her and her music. It was honest and so wise in a way. I hope to emulate the way she captivated people. Someone like Ed Sheeran, too, because he can also leave an audience in awe with no help. That’s something to admire.