There’s a lot of skeletons in my closet!
Even the small amount of infamy I have makes me uncomfortable – on a personal level and on a professional level.
Certainly I’ve had the experience of thinking a person was one thing, and finding out they were another.
I don’t think there are in life, pure darkness or pure light. Everyone’s got a little of everything.
As an actor, I think a mistake that any storyteller can make is to play the ending.
It’s nice to sometimes get things out of life, rather than stealing from other artists. I’m trying to steal from the real people.
I don’t mean to be highfalutin about it, but I try to limit my visibility.
I generally play strong people and scary people.
It’s tough being an actor making music, because even I have a knee-jerk reaction to that.
It’s probably odd for someone to read an interview where the interviewee is worried about exposure while they’re talking in an interview.
It’s hard to get concert tickets.
If you’re telling a story it’s always best not to play the ending.
I want people to believe me when I play a part and they are less apt to if they know a lot about me and have associations about me.
I think we’re all mysteries to ourselves.
I met Robert Rodriguez working on a movie called ‘Roadracers.’
I lived in Texas for 10 years.
For the last 20 years of my life, I’ve had the mantra to do amazing parts with amazing people in amazing projects, so I’m attracted to good story, writing and character and good people. That’s what I’m always searching for and I don’t think that’s ever going to change.
I don’t have any training as an actor, but I guess I’m an intense pretender. When you read something over and over, it gets into you a little bit. You can’t help but begin to feel it, even if you’re a healthy person as I think I am.
The corridor smelled of water in the bottoms of purple vases and the piano was banging just beyond this emptiness.
Some time ago I discovered that I could no longer speak aloud or read aloud from a stage, even for the sake of hearing the effect that my writer’s voice produced on listeners. Now, curiously, the more I merely try to live, the more reclusive I become, the vainer I am. At last I am as vain as the one who instantly voices his silence inside me.
No appetite. No sensation in a dry stomach. No desire. No orchids sweet enough to taste. Not the sort of woman to eat sandwiches on a bus. At least not the sort of woman who would eat in the dark. Not anymore.