If you asked my kids to describe me, they'd go through a whole list of words before even thinking about Parkinson's. And honestly, I don't think about it that much either. I talk about it because it's there, but it's not my totality.

I don't set a whole lot of goals. It smacks a little bit of will to me, and I find that will is not the way to go for me.

My happiness grows in direct proportion to my acceptance, and in inverse proportion to my expectations.

If you were to rush into this room right now and announce that you had struck a deal - with God, Allah, Buddha, Christ, Krishna, Bill Gates, whomever - in which the ten years since my diagnosis could be magically taken away, traded in for ten more years as the person I was before - I would, without a moment's hesitation, tell you to take a hike.

My whole life, meeting people is like a blind date, because I feel like they've already seen the video on me.

I can't be smug, because I know that you can lose anything at any point. And I can't be angry, because I haven't lost it.

One of the great things about Parkinson's, in a superficial way, is it relieved me of vanity. I don't worry about what I look like, because it's literally out of my hands. But on a deeper level, it gives you a real humility, because you have to deal every day with the fact that you compromise.