There are no secrets in life; just hidden truths that lie beneath the surface.

I have this dream where Little Chino keeps showing up at my door. I would have to kill him even though I was at home trying to have a nice meal with my family. Every time he (Chino) would come to the door, I'm like, 'you again!' But I was myself (not Dexter) in the dream. I'm rolling my eyes in the dream because it is so absurd. It was like, this is ridiculous because you (Chino) are not even real!

I don't think closeted homosexual morticians have the market cornered on self-loathing or sense of shame.

I mean, the competition is really created by the buzz around the Emmys. It's a totally subjective thing.

Sometimes men present a swagger that suggests a prowess, whether it's sexual or financial. L.A. seems to be a place where trying too hard is almost a given. Some people are unapologetic about how blatantly they represent who they are through what they wear or drive. Subtlety is in short supply.

Dexter's a unique killer in that his father saw his dark impulses, shined a light on them, and told Dexter that he saw them, he accepted them, that Dexter is good and that he is worthy of love. And I think that's what enables him to focus his energies in this unique way.

It's interesting to play a role where you don't really have to preoccupy yourself with any need to convince yourself that you're not acting.