I had a definite sense of somehow being a passenger in an evil vehicle crusing through Paradise.

After the falling out with my father, I worked on a couple of ranches - thoroughbred layup farms, actually - out toward Chino, California. That was fine for a little while, but I wanted to get out completely, and twenty miles away wasnt far enough.

Caryl Churchill is a writer of some note, but in the sack, she makes me explain everything.

Keep away from fantasy. Shake off the image.

I still haven't gotten over this thing of walking down the street and somebody recognizing you because you've been in a movie. There's this illusion that movie stars only exist in the movies. And to see one live is like seeing a leopard let out of the zoo.

I didn't go out of my way to get into this movie stuff. I think of myself as a writer.

She refers to her past as the time before she was "blown away.