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I had casually rented an apartment that cost $75 a month because I expected my writing to pay my way.

I was making $150 a week in workshop. It was a rough year. I had trouble paying the rent. But I had evenings free to spend with my wife, Olive, and our baby daughter. In terms of family-building, it was one of the most blessed years of my life.

My biggest break wasn't 'Rent;' it was the first job that ever paid me. I couldn't believe that they were paying me all that money to go around the country and do Shakespeare. I would have done it for free.

All I ever wanted to do was be able to pay my rent.

Up until the time I was 31 years old, in Spain, I still didn't know how I was going to pay the rent.

You have to do whatever jobs you can to pay the rent.

I've had to do all kinds of jobs to pay the rent. I've even worked in a Cornish tin mine.

My first job was in sixth grade, sweeping the clay tennis courts at the yacht club near my house, which I was not a member of. Always had to pay my own rent. But I don't really have any concept of how money works. I don't know how much things cost. Like a BMW. Or a quart of milk. It's embarrassing.

It always seems to me that my life would look completely different if I didn't have to take care of the rent.