Academy Award-winning actor and comic Robin Williams was found dead in his Tiburon, CA home on Monday afternoon. He was 63 years old.

I usually employ that reliable bon mot “I laugh to keep from crying” in response to unexpected tragedies like this. As I compose this salad of letters, I seem to be doing more of the latter than the former.

But if there was ever an actor to truly embody those words, it was Robin Williams. His comedy — aggressively physical, loony, yet teeming with a gentle sweetness—always possessed an undercurrent of profound sadness. There is a thin line between comedy and tragedy, and while most contemporary comedians tiptoe along that demarcation and ultimately pick a side, Robin Williams wasn’t afraid to blend both elements, like some sort of dram-com alchemist. His comedies found ways to tug at our tear reservoirs, while his dramas always winked at us as if to say, “I don’t mind if you laugh. It’s good for the heart.”

Very few actors could do what Robin Williams did; he could bring a court jester’s jocularity, as well as a king’s nobility and seriousness, to the same character.  This was best displayed though Adrian Cronauer, his motor-mouth disk jockey in Good Morning, Vietnam. At first, we were laughing at Williams as he tells Forrest Whitaker’s Eddy, “Sometimes, you have to specifically go out of your way to get into trouble. It’s called fun!” (punctuated by a Three Stooges-like bop on Eddy’s nose). Before we know it, we are standing with him as he refuses to regurgitate the military’s censored bullshit and tells listeners the unflinching truth about the horrors taking place in Saigon. He was done fucking around. Robin Williams could be your id in one scene, and your conscience in the next.

As boisterous and animated as Mr. Williams could be, he was at his best when subdued. As Sean Maguire in Good Will Hunting he was a somber, reserved psychiatrist who was working through his own demons while helping Matt Damon’s titular character with his. His poetic musings on identity, love and fulfillment could’ve easily come off as corny navel-gazing, but Williams’ complex humanity within his performance wouldn’t allow that. And let’s not forget about that rage: As soon as we meet Sean, we sense an air of intensity lurking underneath his milquetoast demeanor. We could tell Sean was about to explode. A ticking time-bomb. And Will discovered how short that fuse was when he found himself on the receiving end of a choke-slam into a bookshelf for making flippant comments about Sean’s dead wife. But through all of the intellectual, existential wisdom Sean bestowed upon Will, it was a story about his wife farting in her sleep that was the most erudite, the most poignant, and the most honest. Comedy was the universal truth that was able to perforate Will’s stubbornness. My words couldn’t possibly do this scene justice, so listen to Robin’s words below:

I could go on and on about how Robin Williams’ film, TV and standup appearances helped defined my own comedic sensibilities, but I would rather you reflect on how he contributed to defining yours. I don’t have a single peer who wasn’t impacted in some capacity by Mork & Mindy, Mrs. Doubtfire, Hook, Jumanji (this was a negative impact for me personally, for it only increased my arachnophobia), Patch Adams, Jack, The Birdcage, What Dreams May Come, Aladdin, or Dead Poets Society. So maybe take some time this weekend to enjoy his less popular movies like World’s Greatest Dad (should’ve been his second Oscar win) or One Hour Photo (the most sympathetic villain ever) to see the different layers of empathy and humor Mr. Williams could surprise you with.  It was his ability to speak to both our happiness and sadness that always resonated. Because without sadness, we wouldn’t even know what happiness was. Robin Williams gave us permission to laugh in the face of tragedy, and there is no greater catharsis one can experience. And we should all be grateful for his sacrifice. He created a space for us where we didn’t have to take life so seriously all the time.

Here’s to you, Robin Williams. Compared to him, I’m merely a two-toned zebra-headed, slime-coated, pimple-farming, paramecium brain, munching on my own mucus, suffering from Peter Pan envy.

Bangarang!