My mom. Growing up with her, she always taught us to say whatever. Like, 'You think something, say it. Don't bite your tongue for people.' I think there's a fine line with that, but at the same time, I'm a firm believer in speaking your mind.

There is no chip coming off of my shoulder because, at the end of the day, you're still going to continue to be doubted.

I'm going to be more critical of myself than anyone could ever be.

I know what hard times are like. I didn't grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I've had struggles.

The passion of hatred is so long lived and so obstinate a malady that the surest sign of death in a sick person is their desire for reconciliation.

At the New York Athletic Club they serve amazing food. People go there, get healthy, and then eat themselves to death - which is, I suppose, the right way to do it.

Your grief path is yours alone, and no one else can walk it, and no one else can understand it.

Way up high in the Shenandoah Mountains where I live, it is difficult to maintain illusions about the natural world. It is dying.