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I'd go onstage doing this thing, trying to fill this arena that I can't fill because I don't understand what this is. It's like you're given a job that's beyond you. And it's taken me years to realize what works in those big situations.
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Drying up in conversation You will be the one who cannot talk All your insides fall to pieces You just sit there wishing you could still make love.
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She looks like the real thing She tastes like the real thing My fake plastic love But I can't help the feeling I could blow through the ceiling If I just turn and run.
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I'm achingly aware of my own limitations as both part of the human race and as an individual. I'm just, casting this out that, maybe, I'm not so perfect as is the affront I oft put on. After all, the lyric is 'I wish I was special'. I truly just want to be loved and accepted, I think, like all humans.
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Sex is more than an act of pleasure, it’s the ability to be able to feel so close to a person, so connected, so comfortable that it’s almost breathtaking to the point you feel you can’t take it. And at this moment you’re a part of them.
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I love listening to music with my mate. We don't do it often, but when we do we'll just sit there and lose our heads in it. Sooner or later he'll start saying something to the effect of "Hey, Thom, can you put in something else now?" but I'll just nod coldly and respond "not just yet". But after awhile, I'll finally budge. And that's when I crack a big smile and take out The Bends and put in Kid A. My friend just sighs and leaves the room, and I can't blame him. He's not ready for that leap yet.
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I often fake my death and then just show up at people's houses. They say 'that's a good one Thom' but I know maybe they don't really think it's a funny joke.
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The whole point of creating music for me is to give voice to things that aren't normally given voice to.
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If I could do just one thing to change the world, I'd make everyone Thom Yorke, and this would be paradise.
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I tied a bunch of balloons to a beach chair and tried to float up to heaven. *begins to weep* There's no heaven, and birds tried to kill me! *shrivels up*
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Time is running out for us But you just move the hands upon the clock You throw coins in the wishing well For us You just move your hands upon the wall
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They love me like I was a brother They protect me, listen to me They dug me my very own garden Gave me sunshine, made me happy Nice dream, nice dream Nice dream
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Chicken Little change my life when I was younger. I had no idea chickens could talk *laughs*.
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You do it to yourself, you do, And that's what really hurts, Is that you do it to yourself, Just you and no one else, You do it to yourself...
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I'm not afraid of computers taking over the world. They're just sitting there. I can hit them with a two by four.
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Your fantasies are unlikely. But beautiful.
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And the moral of the story is I'm Thom Yorke.
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I'm actually an athiest. That's kind of deep you must admit.
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We're at a time when we are being presented with undeniable changes in the global climate and fundamental issues that affect every single one of us, and it's the time we're listening to the most hokey shite on the radio and watching vacuous bullshit celebrities being vacuous bullshit celebrities and desperately trying to forget about everything. Which is fine, you know, but personally speaking, I can't do that.
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Getting everything you want has nothing to do with anything.
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I'm absolutely terrified that people can get into cars. It's like the car is a face, and the headlight is eyes, and when you open the car door it's like you're climbing into the ears. (I cannot) be inside a giant rolling robot head.
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If Bono can release an album out of nowhere then so can I!
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I'm celibate. It's not that I'm a religious or moral person or anything, it's just, if you aren't ****ing Thom Yorke, what's the point? Actually, just kidding, Thom Yorke and I **** all the time. Hehehe. Had you.
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Most of my dancing is actually convulsions from having to listen to my own music