I wonder if vampire's eyebrows can grow back.

I was only given this life because I'm strong enough to live it.

I'm afraid of buying a house or anything, 'cause if there's one paparazzi outside for one day, then they'll never leave.

Music means freedom to me. But in acting you can pretend to be someone else and I like that.

I did this movie about Salvador Dali a few years ago and had hair extensions and a little bob. That was incredibly bizarre.

People who are the most normal are probably the most crazy.

I prefer to be someone who has to confront his many fears instead of someone who has the illusion he doesn't fear anything

I'm always shocked by the people who I'm attracted to. It's always completely random. I generally like people who are a bit crazy but yeah, that's pretty much my only prerequisite.

The link between my brain and my mouth is just not there anymore.

Sometimes I think, 'To hell with acting' and then I realize I could be working at a shoe shop. Acting is much cooler.

I've never met anyone who's left a comment on anything. It's just demons who live in basements.

When you feel life at crossroads, you need higher perspective view.

I can say that what you know is just a nothing or let's say thats some kind a small of peace of paper. I also know like you... or probably little more but it's nothing compared to everything.

The summer kings are gods, and we are finally, in the end, just men.

And that, she thought as he left her, summed up the miracle of her life. She had a home with him, and he'd be there.

I'm a big fan of songs like Joe Cocker's 'You Are So Beautiful' and Eric Clapton's 'Wonderful Tonight' - songs that go straight to the point.

The characters are telling you the story. I'm not telling you the story, they're going to do it. If I do it right, you will get the whole story.

If that person doesn't want to be in your life, just let him or her leave.

When sleep leaves the body like smoke and man, sated with secrets, drives the overworked nag of quarrel out of its stall, then the fire-breathing union begins anew . . .

I left him in his wheelchair, staring sadly into the fireplace. I wondered how many times he’d sat here, waiting for heroes that never came back.

They will come, not to paint the bay and the sea and the boots and the moors, but the warmth of the sun and the colour of the wind. A whole new concept. Such stimulation. Such vitality.