What's the classical moment that every actor or actress deals with? A tragic thing. They get that blank, faraway look in their eyes. But in life, it's not that way.

I don't use the techniques I learned at NYU much anymore.

I was nicknamed 'Skeeter' in Little League because I was small and fast, like a mosquito flying across the outfield.

I'm not the most talkative guy in the world.

My problem with interviews, one day I'll think one thing, and the next day I'll think the exact opposite.

Any time I got in emotional turmoil, I felt sick all the time, like at any minute I would die.

I didn't even go to my prom. I didn't have one date in high school.

Whatever labels are being pinned on me have nothing to do with me.

There's been a boiling down of real emotion into a set pattern instead of individualism.

I grew up in a small farming town called Concord, outside Charlotte in North Carolina.

As an actor, you want to keep your demons to some extent, but you also have to exorcise them so you can use them instead of them using you.

Kindness beautifies your words.Love sweetens your words.Wisdom empowers your words.

Part of the terrible irony of war is that it enlists the best in human nature for purposes of mutual destruction.

The only people to whose opinions I listen now with any respect are people much younger than myself. They seem in front of me. Life has revealed to them her latest wonder.

Advice is seldom welcome and those who want it the most always like it the least.

This much then, is clear: in all our conduct it is the mean that is to be commended.

The dream is a series of images, which are apparently contradictory and nonsensical, but arise in reality from psychologic material which yields a clear meaning.

Science and art are the handmaids of religion.

Once war consisted of individual combats between armed men. Later it was waged between lines of men in opposing trenches. Now it is organized slaughter of whole populations.

Innovation is the central issue in economic prosperity.

Alas, how can we help but mourn When hero bosoms yield their breath! A century itself may bear But once the flower of such a death.