I rarely think about my childhood. It's a slippery thing I can't keep hold of for long - it slithers out of my grasp. And a lot of the time I remember what was missing instead of what was there. I am a chronicler of absence.

If you look at the person that someone chooses to have a relationship with, you'll see what they think of themselves.

I went to a doctor and told him I felt normal on acid, that I was a light bulb in a world of moths. That is what the manic state is like.

Sid said that drugs weren't the problem, life was the problem. Drugs were the solution.

I have the ability, occasionally, of being able to step out and see who you think I could end up being. And I like to play with that.

My mother's career was over at 40 but she was still trying to be everyone's buddy, always smiling for the cameras.

I rarely cry. I save my feelings up inside me like I have something more specific in mind for them. I am waiting for the exact perfect situationand then BOOM! I'll explode in a light show of feeling and emotion - a pinata stuffed with tender nuances and pent-up passions