You’re bloody right I am. We’re all legends.

If any of you fuss about it or frown about it, or, worst of all, if you bore me with your sympathy, that’s just seconds wasted. Seconds that could be used making music, which is all I want to do with the time I have left. I don’t have time to be their victim, their AIDS poster boy, their cautionary tale. No, I decide who I am. I’m going to be what I was born to be. A performer… who gives the people what they want. Touch of the heavens. Freddie f***ing Mercury.

You know when you know you’ve gone rotten? Really rotten? Fruit flies. Dirty, little fruit flies. Coming to feast on what’s left.

Being human is a condition that requires a little anesthesia.

I’m just a musical prostitute, my dear.