Nobody notices me. Nobody thinks I'm me. But then I look less like me than most of the people coming to our concerts.

I never answer if someone knocks on my door and only the band and my manager have my phone number. In any case my phone doesn't ring so I never notice it. I occasionally just walk past and pick it up to see if anyone's there.

I do a job I really, really love and I kind of have fun with. People think you can't be grown up unless you're moaning about your job.

I really enjoy what I do, and who I'm with and where I am. Having said that, I'm not really a person of habit, because what I do in my job is travel around the world and play concerts to people, and occasionally do very weird things.

While I oppose the death penalty as a policy matter, in a legal culture in which we reserve the right to execute people for relatively routine street crimes, it seems quite absurd for the justice system to get squeamish about executing the operational masterminds of Sept. 11.

Since the beginning, a woman's first and most important role has been ushering into mortality spirit sons and daughters of our Father in Heaven.

No one feels another's grief, no one understands another's joy. People imagine they can reach one another. In reality they only pass each other by.

Death metal uses a lot of white face paint and black hair dye to make its point. I quite enjoy this genre for its intensity, extremism and underlying irony: You have to be alive to play it and listen to it.