I have a feeling of reverence about my father being in his 80s - a feeling that I want to whisper, take soft steps, not intrude too much. He's like a stately old cathedral to me now.

Some people, when they die, leave so much life behind that we wonder how they did it.

Loss teaches you to figure things out as they come along.

I really just wanted to be a writer, but people tell you, 'You should have a backup career,' so I thought, 'OK, I'll act.' That was the foolishness of my vision for my life - that my backup career would be completely undependable.

Alzheimer's disease locks all the doors and exits. There is no reprieve, no escape.

it ultimately doesn't matter which disease gnaws away at the body - it looks the same. The flesh surrenders, grows exhausted, and the eyes ask why.

That is your legacy on this Earth when you leave this Earth: how many hearts you touched.