I remember being a teenager and writing this romantic short story in the style of the Brontës on a computer and I didn’t realise that the person whose computer it was could just print it out. A group of boys had a couple of pages and they were all reading it.

An earthquake in Peru forced me and a young man into the street, where he had to introduce me to his family at three in the morning.

Being an actor is inherently embarrassing. You have to embrace it.

Being called upon by President Bush to ask him a question at a press conference when I wasn’t there. He called my name … and there was no response!

My soon-to-be ex-wife, Amanda. I wish I’d been able to do whatever would have been necessary all the way back to keep us as a unit. Probably the worst thing I did was not tell her how miserable I was, certain that I could turn this around somehow.

I like the idea of being atoms that other people can breathe in, and fabulous worm food.

As someone who left the world slightly more interesting than he found it.

Mostly the pain. I don’t want to be trapped in a body that hurts.

My kids, and getting some of the stories I had in my head on to paper in a way that wasn’t too far removed from the thing I dreamed about writing.

And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn’t matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.