At some point, being angry is just another bad habit, like smoking, and you keep poisoning yourself without thinking about it.

Loneliness doesn’t exist on any single plane of consciousness. It’s generally a low throb, barely audible, like the hum of a Mercedes engine in park, but every so often the demands of the highway call for a burst of acceleration, and the hum becomes a thunderous, elemental roar, and once again you’re reminded of what this baby’s carrying under the hood.

I'm really not a fan of voiceovers; I think they become a crutch.

We're all clichés, all following scripts that have been written and played out long before we landed the role.

Childhood feels so permanent, like it's the entire world, and then one day it's over and you're shoveling wet dirt onto your father's coffin, stunned at the impermanence of everything.

We don't stop loving people just because we hate them, but we don't stop hating them either.

When I'm writing novels, even screenplays, it's never an actor I have in mind; it's always the version in my head of who the character is. Once somebody gets cast, I have to adjust a little bit to who they are.