Reality is hard. It is no walk in the park, this thing called life.

My recovery from manic depression has been an evolution, not a sudden miracle.

I've come to believe that whoever I am didn't start on December 14, 1946, and isn't going to end on whatever that mysterious date is in the future

I can't tell you what I had for breakfast, but I can sing every single word of rock and roll

From the moment we walk out the door until we come back home our sensibilities are so assaulted by the world that we have to soak up as much love as we can get, simply to arm ourselves.

I tell people to monitor their self-pity. Self-pity is very unattractive.

When I'm 80 and sitting in a rocking chair listening to the Rolling Stones, there is absolutely no way I'm going to feel old or forget my younger days.

I still have highs and lows, just like any other person. What's missing is the lack of control over the super highs, which became destructive, and the super lows, which are immediately destructive.

Actors take risks all the time. We put ourselves on the line. It is creative to be able to interpret someone's words and breathe life into them.

Sometimes it is the simplest, seemingly most inane, most practical stuff that matters the most to someone.

All I will tell you is that I play a small role in someone's happily ever after.

The words ‘drink me’ come to mind. Anyone besides me up for some heavy alcohol consumption?

Songs can be like photos - they hold a memory, a moment, and thoughts that keep you warm inside.

Family is what grounds you.

The irony of prison is that it takes years and years and years to plan an elaborate escape, but all you have is years and years and years.

I get up and I have coffee and I speak to no man and I go to my desk.

You and you alone are responsible for taking actions to create the life of your dreams. Nobody else can (or will) do it for you.

Barring that natural expression of villainy which we all have, the man looked honest enough.

To arrive at abstraction, it is always necessary to begin with a concrete reality.

The gods bestowed on Max [Beerbohm] the gift of perpetual old age.

Art is a human act, a generous contribution, something that might not work, and it is intended to change the recipient for the better, often causing a connection to happen.