The person that was closest to me growing up was my sister, who died at 19. She was an incredibly powerful girl, deeply committed to art and literature.

We are delightfully trapped by our memories. I can't drink a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape Vieux Telegraphe without revisiting a hotel bistro in Luzerne, Switzerland, where I ate a large bowl of a peppery Basque baby goat stew. A sip and a bite. A bite and sip. Goose bumps come with the divine conjunction of food and wine.

The only durable sense of success is if you've followed your calling.

I became aesthetically obsessed with language. And 'literary artist' - poet and novelist - is a calling. You are called to it the way preachers are called to preaching the gospel.

When you're in the battlefield, survival is all there is. Death is the only great emotion.

No one owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death.

When I got lucky enough to be successful as an actor, and I got involved in the anti-war stuff and gay rights movement, there was always this thing eating at me about the death penalty, because that was, to me, the bottom line. That was the anti-life - by definition - position, and I didn't understand why we did it.

The tattoos are about my grandmother dying, and they tell the story about my mother and father, my brothers and my sister, my kids. It's pretty much a family tree on my arm with my life in football, too.