Starting out, I remember being on the same bill with other bands, and I always thought they were so much better because they were rehearsed and had all their moves down and they sounded really tight.

When bands are on stage and they ask the crowd, "Are you having a good time?" what they're really saying is, "I just want a bit of reassurance - is everything all right?"

I find it really disappointing and cheap when someone's copied the whole drum sound from a record.

I'll also listen to music on a Discman and realize how nice it can sound when it's not compressed to MP3 format.

If you can do something that doesn't rely on a major melody but still sounds immediate rather than being obtuse and devoid of anything to catch onto, that's great.

When you're making the record, you're not thinking about an audience, but you still need them and you want them.

That happens quite a lot in Hot Chip - you can let go of something that was originally essential to the creation of a song.

There is no decision to be more or less comic. I don't feel more or less humorous in my day-to-day. These things are accidental.

To stop for years and then discover that the audience is getting smaller and smaller would be demoralizing.

There's another thing that you don't want to take for granted, and that's the reality of there being an audience there each night. It's pretty amazing that that can happen around the world.

I don't love CDs more than anything else, but I was just playing around with the idea that they could be something you're momentarily keeping hold of as everything is passing by.

For an individual as well as for a society, there is a gulf between merely living and living worthily.

For those who are intrigued by the multiplicity of reality and the unique possibilities of their own vision, the creative is the path they must pursue.

The recognition of the false is already the arising of the real.

The tragedy wasn’t that Stanford White died, but that I lived.

I'm folding up my little dreams Within my heart tonight, And praying I may soon forget The torture of their sight.

Speak the language of the company you are in; speak it purely, and unlarded with any other.

The variations I've composed on the graceful Neapolitan ditty, 'Oh Mamma, Mama Cara,' outshine everything. I can't describe it

I was not I, I was nothing - and that seemed to me quite marvelous.

I may as well do everything as if it’s brand new, and if I start to feel that any of it’s a compromise, then I’ll...I’ll be in Wisconsin.

Truth is in all, But love is all.