My father was a joyous, joyous spirit, he really was. He was a hedonist, that was just - he enjoyed life, thrust up to the elbows with it. He was a terrible father. I don't know that he was parented that well.

Don't you see? We've become smart enough to justify stupid behavior. Like, 'I'm angry at him and I didn't express it, so I turned my anger inward and now it's depression, so in order to feel good again, what I should do is call him and express my anger.' It's like, if we can make it sound smart enough, we're allowed to do stupid things.

The parrots are great. They do something I refer to as "the Phone Call from Venus." They repeat all my phone conversations. It can very annoying - like having a lot of children in the house screaming.

I guess I could Debra Winger in any number of things. She's so luminous - it's a birth defect.

People see me and they squeal like tropical birds or seals stranded on the beach.

My life is like a lone, forgotten Q-Tip in the second-to-last drawer.

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.