Matthew Perry Quotes

And if you’re going to blame your parents for the bad stuff, you also have to give them credit for the good stuff.

I think you actually have to have all of your dreams come true to realize they are the wrong dreams.

if you spend too much time looking in the rearview mirror, you will crash your car.

I’m not the biggest fan of confrontation. I ask a lot of questions. Just not out loud.

Do you know what St. Peter says to everyone who tries to get into heaven?" ... "Peter says, 'Don't you have any scars?' And when most would respond proudly, 'Well, no, no I don't,' Peter says, 'Why not? Was there nothing worth fighting for?

It is very odd to live in a world where if you died, it would shock people but surprise no one.

God is everywhere—you just have to clear your channel, or you’ll miss it.

I sometimes do want to tell God to go fuck himself for making my road so hard.

Reality is an acquired taste.

You are everything I never knew that I always wanted.

Drinkers think they are trying to escape, but really they are trying to overcome a mental disorder they didn't know they had.

Now, all these years later, I’m certain that I got famous so I would not waste my entire life trying to get famous. You have to get famous to know that it’s not the answer. And nobody who is not famous will ever truly believe that.

The man takes the drink, the drink takes all the rest.

And have you ever stood on the water's edge and tried to stop the wave? It goes on regardless of what we do, regardless of how hard we try. The ocean reminds us that we are powerless in comparison.

My mind is out to kill me, and I know it. I am constantly filled with a lurking loneliness, a yearning, clinging to the notion that something outside of me will fix me. But I had had all that the outside had to offer!

You never know where one thing will lead... I guess the lesson is, take every opportunity, because something might come of it.

I am me. And that should be enough, it always has been enough. I was the one who didn’t get that. And now I do. I’m an actor, I’m a writer. I’m a person. And a good one at that. I want good things for myself, and others, and I can continue to work for these things. There is a reason I’m still here. And figuring out why is the task that has been put in front of me. And it will be revealed. There is no rush, no desperation. Just the fact that I am here, and I care about people, is the answer. Now when I wake up, I wake up curious, wondering what the world has in store for me, and I for it. And that’s enough to go on.

Find a friend who’ll quit something with you—you’ll be amazed what that does for a friendship.

My grandfather, the wonderful Alton L. Perry, grew up around an alcoholic father, and as a result, he never touched a drink in his life, all ninety-six long, wonderful years of it. I am not my grandfather.

No secret gets worse just because it has been told.

Nobody ever thinks that something really bad is going to happen to them. Until it does.

When someone does something nice for someone else, I see God. But you can’t give away something you don’t have. So, I try to improve myself daily. When those moments come and I am needed, I’ve worked out my shit, and do what we are all here for, which is simply to help other people.

Know more, say less.

I wasn't fully me yet; I was just parts of me (and not the best parts, either).

These men were not drinking to escape; they were drinking to overcome a craving beyond their mental control.

Martin Sheen turned to me and said, 'Do you know what Saint Peter says to everyone who tries to get into heaven?' When I looked blankly, the man who was once president said, 'Peter says, 'Don't you have any scars?' And when most would respond proudly, 'Well no, no I don't,' Peter says, 'Why not? Was there nothing worth fighting for?

If I had to do it all over again, would I still audition for Friends? You bet your ass I would. Would I drink again? You bet your ass I would. If I didn’t have alcohol to soothe my nerves and help me have fun, I would have leaped off a tall building sometime in my twenties.

Being in a kitchen always brings to mind God. He showed up to me in a kitchen, of course, and in doing so, saved my life. God is always there for me now, whenever I clear my channel to feel his awesomeness. It’s hard to believe, given everything, that he still shows up for us mortals, but he does, and that’s the point: love always wins.

Alcoholics hate two things: the way things are and change.

I made the choice to live in my head and not in my heart. It was safer in my head- -you couldn't be broken there, not yet anyway.

The one thing I got right was that I never gave up, I never raised my hands and said, “That’s enough, I can’t take it anymore, you win.” And because of that, I stand tall now, ready for whatever comes next. Someday you, too, might be called upon to do something important, so be ready for it. And when whatever happens, just think, What would Batman do? and do that.

But addiction wakes up before you do, and it wants you alone. Alcoholism will win every time. As soon as you raise your hand and say, “I’m having a problem,” alcohol sneers, You’re gonna say something about it? Fine, I’ll go away for a while. But I’ll be back. It never goes away for good.

So, I will leave you first. I will fabricate in my mind that something went wrong with you, and I'll believe it. And I'll leave. But something can't be wrong with all of them. What's the common denominator here?

Addiction is like the Joker. It just wants to see the whole world burn.

Addiction, the big terrible thing, is far too powerful for anyone to defeat alone. But together, one day at a time, we can beat it down.

I don't want to die, but if I have to in order to get sufficient drugs on board, then amen to oblivion.

This is what I've been missing. This must be how normal people feel all the time. I don't have any problems. It is all gone. I don't need attention. I am taken care of, I am fine.

There was nowhere to turn. Everywhere I tried to hide, there I was.

You know how sometimes the universe has plans for you that are hard to believe, how the world wants something for you even though you’ve done your best to close off that avenue?

The path of least resistance is boring, and scars are interesting—they tell an honest story, and they are proof that a battle was fought, and in my case, hard-won.

My mother is beautiful; she was a star in every room she entered. And she's certainly the reason I'm funny.

And like a baby, I didn't want to do the inner work for so long, because if a pill fixes it, well, that's easier, and that's what I was taught.

And if you’re going to blame your parents for the bad stuff, you also have to give them credit for the good stuff. All the good stuff.

When a woman comes over to your place, and she takes her shoes off, you are going to get laid. If she leaves them on, you won't.

But you can’t give away something you don’t have. So, I try to improve myself daily. When those moments come and I am needed, I’ve worked out my shit, and do what we are all here for, which is simply to help other people.

Do you know what Saint Peter says to everyone who tries to get into heaven?” When I looked blankly, the man who once was president said, “Peter says, ‘Don’t you have any scars?’ And when most would respond proudly, ‘Well no, no I don’t,’ Peter says, ‘Why not? Was there nothing worth fighting for?

River was a beautiful man, inside and out—too beautiful for this world, it turned out. It always seems to be the really talented guys who go down. Why is it that the original thinkers like River Phoenix and Heath Ledger die, but Keanu Reeves still walks among us? River was a better actor than me; I was funnier. But I certainly held my own in our scenes—no small feat, when I look back decades later. But more important, River just looked at the world in a different way than we all did, and that made him fascinating, and charismatic, and, yes, beautiful, but not in a Gap ad kinda way (though he was that, too)—in a there-is-no-one-else-in-the-world-like-him kind of way. Not to mention he was rocketing to stardom, yet you would never know it.

I am no saint—none of us are—but once you have been at death’s door and you don’t die, you would think you would be bathed in relief and gratitude. But that isn’t it at all—instead, you look at the difficult road ahead of you to get better and you are pissed. Something else happens, too. You are plagued by this nagging question: Why have I been spared?

think you actually have to have all of your dreams come true to realize they are the wrong dreams.

For years I thought I wasn’t enough, but I don’t feel that way anymore. I think I’m just the right amount.

Discover, uncover, and discard” was one of the major mantras at Cirque,

My mind is out to kill me, and I know it. I am constantly filled with a lurking loneliness, a yearning, clinging to the notion that something outside of me will fix me.

I am enough. I am more than enough

If you like, you can consider what you’re about to read to be a message from the beyond, my beyond.

but somehow the culture all around me had taught me that drinking equaled laughing and having fun, and a much-needed escape from pain.

Someday you, too, might be called upon to do something important, so be ready for it. And whenever whatever happens, just think, "What would Batman do?" and do that.

I was just one more human being spinning in infinite circles.

Excuse me? You went for a walk and quit drinking? I have spent upward of $7 million trying to get sober. I have been to six thousand AA meetings. (Not an exaggeration, more an educated guess.) I’ve been to rehab fifteen times. I’ve been in a mental institution, gone to therapy twice a week for thirty years, been to death’s door. And you went for a fucking walk?

I needed to move on, and up, and realize that there was a whole big world out there and it was not out to get me. In fact, it had no opinion about me. It just was, like the animals and the shiv-sharp air; the universe was neutral, and beautiful, and continued with or without me.

You can track the trajectory of my addiction if you gauge my weight from season to season—when I’m carrying weight, it’s alcohol; when I’m skinny, it’s pills. When I have a goatee, it’s lots of pills.

It was there that I met a counselor named Burton, a Yoda-like figure who told me that I liked the drama and chaos of my addiction problem. "What are you talking about?" I said. "It's ruined my life. It's robbed me of every good thing I have ever had." I was really pissed off. But what if he was right?

I’ve seen God in my kitchen, of all places, so I know there’s something bigger than me. (I know I can’t make a plant, for a start.) I know it’s an omnipresent love and acceptance that means that everything’s going to be OK. I know something happens when you die. I know you move on to something wonderful.

they took one look at my chart and apparently said, “Matthew Perry is not dying in our hospital.” Thanks, guys. UCLA wasn’t willing to take me, either—for the same reason? Who can say?—but at least they were willing to

In fact, I was alive in a world where, despite its neutrality, I had managed to create for myself an important, meaningful place. I needed to realize that when I died, I wanted my Friends credit to be way down on the list of things I had accomplished. I needed to remind myself to be nice to people—to have them bumping into me be a happy experience, not one that necessarily had to fill me with dread, as though that was all that mattered. I needed to be kind, to love well, to listen better, to give unconditionally. It was time to stop being such a scared asshole and realize that as situations came up, I would be able to handle them. Because I was strong.

I don’t believe in half-assing things anymore. The path of least resistance is boring, and scars are interesting—they tell an honest story, and they are proof that a battle was fought, and in my case, hard-won. I have many scars now.

After that, I don't think I spoke for another week because I had realized that my greatest fear had come true, which is that I did this to myself. There was one, upside, though. A fourteen-day coma makes it very simple to quit smoking.

when I can get someone, I have to leave them before they leave me, because I’m not enough and I’m about to be found out, but when someone I want doesn’t choose me, that just proves I’m not enough and I’ve been found out. Heads they win, tails I lose.

Recently my mother told me she was proud of me. I’d written a movie and she’d read it. I’d been wanting her to say that my whole life. When I pointed this out, she said, “What about a little forgiveness?” “I do forgive you,” I said. “I do.” I wonder if she can forgive me for everything I’ve put her through.…

I keep coming back to this singular, inescapable fact: I am alive. Given the odds, those three words are more miraculous than you might imagine; to me, they have an odd, shiny quality, like rocks brought back from a distant planet. No one can quite believe it. It is very odd to live in a world where if you died, it would shock people but surprise no one.

But I had two towels next to my toilet: one to wipe away the vomit, and one to wipe away the tears. I was dying, but I couldn’t tell anyone about it.

I had a monster in my brain, a monster who wanted to get me alone, and convince me to have that first drink or pill, and then that monster would engulf me.

The hundreds of thousands of dollars that particular choice cost me in therapy? May I get that back, please?

There was nothing separating me from me.

It was the right thing, but that didn't mean it wasn't sad.

I'm not the biggest fan of confrontation. I ask a lot of questions. Just not out loud.

But I was still so often just a tourist in sobriety.

This is very intimate personal stuff and if you don’t hear it from the actual person, it is, to my mind, gossip

Alcoholics hate two things: the way things are and change. I knew something had to change—I wasn’t suicidal, but I was dying—but I was too scared to do anything about

You’ve just got to see me through another day. —James Taylor

As I’ve said, for the entire stay in those hospitals, I was never left alone—not once. So, there is light in the darkness. It’s there—you just have to look hard enough for it.

can’t decide if I actually like people or not. People have needs, they lie, cheat, steal, or worse: they want to talk about themselves.

Be careful, Matty, something that feels that good must come with consequences.

I was all about myself from the time I was ten years old, from that moment when I looked around and said, It’s every man for himself. I had to be so focused on me just to keep myself together.

Matthew, this is Bruce Willis. Call me back, or I'll burn your house down and break both your knees and arms and you'll be left with just the stubs for hands and feet for the rest of your life.

I began to think about why I hadn't wanted any visitors during this stay, and something profound hit me... Why am I excusing my family and loved ones from having to go through this hell, and not myself?

So that’s why when I buy a new house—and there have been many (never underestimate a geographic)—it has to have a view. I want the sense that I can look down on safety, on someplace where someone is thinking of me, at a place where love is. Down there, somewhere in that valley, or in that vast ocean out there beyond the Pacific Coast Highway, on the gleaming primaries of the red-tail’s wings, that’s where parenting is.

I remember thinking, Man, no one taught me the rules of life. I was a complete mess of a person—selfish and narcissistic. Everything had to be about me, and I matched that with a really handy inferiority complex, an almost fatal combo.

But, you see, I can’t say yes to that question “Why?” when I feel like I’m not enough. You can’t give away something you do not have. And most of the time I have these nagging thoughts: I’m not enough, I don’t matter, I am too needy. These thoughts make me uncomfortable. I need love, but I don’t trust it. If I drop my game, my Chandler, and show you who I really am, you might notice me, but worse, you might notice me and leave me. And I can’t have that. I won’t survive that. Not anymore. It will turn me into a speck of dust and annihilate me. So, I will leave you first. I will fabricate in my mind that something went wrong with you, and I’ll believe it. And I’ll leave. But something can’t go wrong with all of them, Matso. What’s the common denominator here?

The idea of being famous, the idea of being rich, the idea of being me—I can’t enjoy any of it unless I’m high. And I can’t think of love without wanting to be high. I lack a spiritual connection that protects me from these feelings. That’s why I’m a seeker.

I start, I cannot stop. All I had control over was the first drink. After that, all bets were off. (See under: The man takes the drink, the drink takes all the rest.) Once I believe the lie that I can just have one drink, I am no longer responsible for my actions.

In the final episode, you’ll see that I’m wearing a white shirt, and tan slacks, and both look at least three sizes too big for me. (Compare this to the difference in how I look between the final episode of season six and the first of season seven—the Chandler-Monica proposal episodes. I’m wearing the same clothes in the final episode of six and the first of seven [it’s supposed to be the same night], but I must have lost fifty pounds in the off-season. My weight varied between 128 pounds and 225 pounds during the years of Friends.)

The creators took each of us out for lunch, too, to get to know us, so they could incorporate some aspects of our real personalities into the show. At my lunch I said two things: one, that even though I considered myself not unattractive, I had terrible luck with women and that my relationships tended toward the disastrous; and two, that I was not comfortable in any silence at all—I have to break any such moment with a joke. And this became a built-in excuse for Chandler Bing to be funny—perfect for a sitcom—and Chandler wasn’t much good with women, either (as he shouts at Janice as she leaves his apartment, “I’ve scared ya; I’ve said too much; I’m awkward and hopeless and desperate for love!”). But think of a better character for a sitcom: someone who is uncomfortable in silence and has to break the silence with a joke.

Friends was such a good and fun job that it curtailed everything for a while at least. I was the second baseman for the New York Yankees. I couldn’t fuck that up. I would never forgive myself.… When you’re earning $1 million a week, you can’t afford to have the seventeenth drink.

Out of nowhere, I found myself getting to my knees, closing my eyes tightly, and praying. I had never done this before. “God, you can do whatever you want to me. Just please make me famous.” Three weeks later, I got cast in Friends. And God has certainly kept his side of the bargain—but the Almighty, being the Almighty, had not forgotten the first part of that prayer as well. Now, all these years later, I’m certain that I got famous so I would not waste my entire life trying to get famous. You have to get famous to know that it’s not the answer. And nobody who is not famous will ever truly believe that.

Years later, my father, too, would take his own meaningful walk: he had had a bad night on the drink where he fell through some bushes or something, and he talked to Debbie about it the following morning and she said, “Is this the way you want to live your life?” And he said, no—then he went for a walk and quit drinking and hasn’t had a drop since. Excuse me? You went for a walk and quit drinking? I have spent upward of $7 million trying to get sober. I have been to six thousand AA meetings. (Not an exaggeration, more an educated guess.) I’ve been to rehab fifteen times. I’ve been in a mental institution, gone to therapy twice a week for thirty years, been to death’s door. And you went for a fucking walk? I’ll tell you where you can take a walk. But my dad can’t write a play, star on Friends, help the helpless. And he doesn’t have $7 million to spend on anything. Life has its trade-offs, I suppose. This begs the question—would I trade places with him? Why don’t we get to that one later?

There were other people around who had needs and cares and were just as important as I was. (If you’re shaking your head now, go on, have at it. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.) Sobriety had now become the most important thing in my life. Because I learned that if you put anything in front of sobriety, you will lose that “anything” anyway if you drink.

Drinkers think they are trying to escape, but really they are trying to overcome a mental disorder they didn’t know they had.” Eureka!—someone understands me. But reading that was both wonderful and horrible. It meant I wasn’t alone—there were others who thought like me—but it also meant I was an alcoholic and would have to quit drinking one day at a time, for the rest of my life. How was I ever going to have fun again?

Addiction has ruined so much of my life it’s not funny. It’s ruined relationships. It’s ruined the day-to-day process of being me. I have a friend who doesn’t have any money, lives in a rent-controlled apartment. Never made it as an actor, has diabetes, is constantly worried about money, doesn’t work. And I would trade places with him in a second. In fact, I would give up all the money, all the fame, all the stuff, to live in a rent-controlled apartment—I’d trade being worried about money all the time to not have this disease, this addiction. And not only do I have the disease, but I also have it bad. I have it as bad as you can have it, in fact. It’s backs-to-the-wall time all the time. It’s going to kill me (I guess something has to). Robert Downey Jr., talking about his own addiction, once said, “It’s like I have a gun in my mouth with my finger on the trigger, and I like the taste of the metal.” I got it; I understand that.

Two weeks later, I was driven to the set of Friends by a technician from Malibu. When I arrived, Jen Aniston said, “I’ve been mad at you.” “Honey,” I said, “if you knew what I’d been through, you would not be mad at me.” With that we hugged, and I got the work done. I married Monica and got driven back to the treatment center—at the height of my highest point in Friends, the highest point in my career, the iconic moment on the iconic show—in a pickup truck helmed by a sober technician.

I was always bad at reading scripts. Back then, I’d be offered millions of dollars to do movies and barely crack the first few pages. I’m embarrassed to admit that now, given that these days I’m writing scripts myself and it’s like pulling teeth to get actors to respond. Maybe they feel how I used to feel: that in a life of fun and fame and money, reading a script, no matter the size of the number attached, feels all too much like school. The universe will teach you, though. All those years I was too this, too that, to read a script, but last year I wrote a screenplay for myself and was trying get it made until I realized that I was too old to play the part. Most fifty-three-year-olds have worked their shit out already, so I needed to hire a thirty-year-old. The one I chose took weeks and weeks to respond, and I couldn’t believe how rude his behavior was.