When young comedians ask me for advice that's the one thing I always say is if they're improvisers I'm like do improv, don't make that your sole thing. And at the end of the day when you do your best work you also just kinda, by definition flush it down the toilet and never do it again.

Mania is fun. I won't lie, it's fun. But it's usually followed by a soul-crushing depression.

It's very interesting being an artist and a comedian, (because) you aim for jobs that will feed your ego, but when you get up to the precipice of them, you actually have to deliver. You actually have to understand that you're reaching a new level where there are way more eyes on you, way more expectations and way more pressure.

Being comedian outside of performing, you're someone who's analyzing life, and thinking about it, and observing so much. In my opinion, it can make you feel sort of on the outside looking in.

If people tell me something is impossible, I just want to prove that. I want to know that that's for certain. I don't want to not do something because someone says I can't.

There was a lot of soul searching and at the end of the day I looked back and realized it was all worth it and successful in its own way and it's led to me having this career that's much more in my hands and in my control than it would have been otherwise.

The whole romanticized sad clown thing, we have to get rid of that. That has to go. That's just getting sick people to voluntarily stay sicker and sadder than they have to be.