All anything takes, really, is confidence.

One way or another he was going out in two weeks, and God help me, I wanted to protect him. More than that, I wanted to save him.

It’s okay to talk about it. Death is so normal, I don’t know why everyone gets so hung up about it. We all have to deal with it. Most people that you talk to have lost someone, but nobody talks about it.

I can’t stand men crying. It’s wrong, isn’t it? Their faces aren’t made for it, they kind of crumple; it’s painful to watch.

This was me, the real me, and Spider was the only person ever to have found me, to see me for who I was. And I saw him too.

Life’s not that simple. Not so easy to move on when the anger you’ve got is what keeps you going.

Nothing makes any sense. Nothing means anything. You’re born, you live, you die. That’s it.

You get use to someone – start to like them, even – and they leave. In the end, everyone leaves.

I remember having to take detours around the Hollywood sign to avoid having to see this grotesque poster of myself on Sunset Boulevard.

There's very little bohemia in Australia and it's one of the things I miss most about not living in Europe.