I hate Christmas. I do think it is odd that I have wound up playing these two iconic Christmas haters. It is the same story, in a way. Scrooge is the original Grinch. I think I am perfectly suited, because I have had some dark Christmases.

Like most Catholic boys, I wanted to be Jesus Christ. I could never get the turn-the-other-cheek thing down, though.

I really want to love somebody. I do. I just don't know if it's possible forever and ever.

That's the trouble with being me. At this point, nobody gives a damn what my problem is. I could literally have a tumor on the side of my head and they'd be like, 'Yeah, big deal. I'd eat a tumor every morning for the kinda money you're pulling down.'

The exit from agony is always there. The tunnel out of the agony sector is always in front of you and yet you don't take it. You don't take it by choice. You want to indulge a lot and be in pain. The easiest way out is to write a list of what you're grateful for. If everybody literally did that before they went to bed at night, there'd be no unhappy people.

I wake up some mornings and sit and have my coffee and look out at my beautiful garden, and I go, 'Remember how good this is. Because you can lose it.'

I got a lot of support from my parents. That's the one thing I always appreciated. They didn't tell me I was being stupid; they told me I was being funny.