At my time of life, one knows that the worst is usually true.

I think, myself, that one's memories represent those moments which, insignificant as they may seem, nevertheless represent the inner self and oneself as most really oneself.

Very unfortunately, she had no husband. She had never had a husband, and therefore did not kill a husband.

Every murderer is probably somebody's old friend.

Things never come when they are expected.

If one sticks too rigidly to one's principles, one would hardly see anybody.

But no artist, I now realize, can be satisfied with art alone. There is a natural craving for recognition which cannot be gain-said.