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A paparazzo once jumped out of a car and started running backward with me. I slowed down out of courtesy because she started drifting into the street. I reached out my hand and moved her back so she didn't get hit by a bus.

Once I was walking from The Mercer in New York - because otherwise I don't walk anywhere - and this woman paparazzo who was following me fell over a fire hydrant and her whole tooth went through her lip. I leant over her, saying, 'Are you all right?' and she was still taking pictures.

Not exactly hit them, but I've restrained a few people.

I think the paparazzi might have chased me out of Los Angeles.

It was dangerous to hit the wrong kid in my neighborhood, because a lot of the guys I played with had fathers in the Mafia.

Any partying I did, I did at home. I didn't want to be in the spotlight... There's an easy way to get away from the paparazzi; they're not that difficult to hide from and you don't need to go out for coffee every five minutes.

I can't go to war with paparazzi.

I love to hit people. I love to.