How would you want people to remember you?

As a funny guy who surprised you once in a while.

As an honest person who liked a laugh.

I don’t care – I won’t be here.

With the correct pronunciation of my name.

As somebody who tried.

With tenderness.

Just remembered, really.

I’d like people to say, “Well, he was a bit odd, he was a bit funny.”

As a charming, helpful, solicitous, generous, loving, carefree and constantly funny companion, lover and father. Some hope of that.

As a good friend.

As having done my best.

By my friends as hopefully someone who was a good friend, or at least amusing, but I don’t need to be remembered by people I don’t know.

For winning that elusive Oscar.

As being useful.

As kind, unafraid and boldly vulnerable – and immensely talented, like, mega supernova level. And super hot. And tall. With great skin.

I would like to be remembered for the quality of my work by people who don’t know me; and by the people who know me I’d like to be remembered for being good company.

As a generous soul.

As an interesting, amusing father by my children.

The friend behind the microphone.

Fondly and down the centuries. I think partly what drives writers to write is the yearning for immortality.