Actors may know how to act, but a lot of them don't know how to behave.

Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

Sometimes you can only find Heaven by slowly backing away from Hell.

If my life wasn't funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.

No motive is pure. No one is good or bad-but a hearty mix of both. And sometimes life actually gives to you by taking away.

My heart's in the right place. I know, 'cuz I hid it there.

Bipolar disorder can be a great teacher. It's a challenge, but it can set you up to be able to do almost anything else in your life.

I am mentally ill. I can say that. I am not ashamed of that. I survived that, I'm still surviving it, but bring it on. Better me than you.

There is no point at which you can say, "Well, I'm successful now. I might as well take a nap."

I get lots of awards for being mentally ill. Apparently, I am better at being mentally ill than almost anything else I've ever done. Seriously - I have a shelf of awards for being bipolar.

You know the bad thing about being a survivor... You keep having to get into difficult situations in order to show off your gift.

Some stories won't have a happy ending, but there's always hope that the next one will. Hope is everything. Even when there's nothing else. Especially when there's nothing else.

The Light is always there. How much light comes to you depends on you.

I am first of all a white man, and only then a socialist.

Look at things and listen and feel.

I can forgive Alfred Nobel for having invented dynamite, but only a fiend in human form could have invented the Nobel Prize.

Nothing can be more readily disproved than the old saw, "You can't keep a good man down." Most human societies have been beautifully organized to keep good men down.

I am a closet metal fan.

I went up to Meryl Streetp and said 'I love you so much I want to tongue kiss you' And she said 'OK'.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart.

The critic does his utmost to blight genius in its infancy; that which rises in spite of him he will not see; and then he complains of the decline of literature.