I had to shoot shotguns for The Blues Brothers. But I don't like that stuff. Too butch for me.

No, as it turns out, I really like being congratulated on my weight loss. I like it so much, it's tragic.

I wanted to be, you know, just no different than anybody else.

If you're manic-depressive and you're functioning in this world and doing it all well, I think, wow, you should be proud of being able to say, this is what I'm getting through right now.

I am mentally ill. I can say that. I am not ashamed of that. I survived that, I'm still surviving it, but bring it on. Better me than you.

I think that now most people know someone in their family that is coping with something, but there is still a tremendous amount of shame - that one is still regarded as a defective unit ... if only they would pull up their bootstraps - they are only indulging their emotions, everybody's moody, blah, blah, blah.

I don't like my face. I don't like to look at it.