Everywhere you hang your hat is home. Home is the bright cave under the hat.

I remember when I came home from the hospital after having my son I wore a Narciso Rodriguez black coat. Then I was using this fragrance that I had created. I walk by that coat and it still smells like that fragrance. It takes you right there.

How we are using up our home how we are living and polluting the planet is frightening. It was evident when I was a child. It's more evident now.

And it took me since I was 17 and left home running from God to now as a 30-year-old man when I honestly feel like I've come full circle and my heart's finally in the right place.

A good wife is someone who thinks she has done everything right: raising the kids being there for the husband being home trying to do it all.

When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.

I feel like I'm working on an oil rig right now. I'm away from home a lot.

I'm a firm believer that lighting affects mood and twinkly lights on strings bring something magical to occasions ranging from concerts to weddings though I'm fond of using them as year-round home decor. There's a reason why they're sometimes called fairy lights. When the night is right there aren't any strings at all.

What the New Yorker calls home would seem like a couple of closets to most Americans yet he manages not only to live there but also to grow trees and cockroaches right on the premises.

Performers are so vulnerable. They're frightened of humiliation sure their work will be crap. I try to make an environment where it's warm where it's OK to fail - a kind of home I suppose.