We live in an age of apologies. Apologies, fake or true, are expected from the descendants of empire builders, slave owners and persecutors of heretics, and from men who -in our eyes- just got it all wrong. So, with the age of 85 coming up shortly, I want to make an apology. It appears I must apologize for being male, white, and European.

The applause of all but very good men is no more than the precise measure of their possible hostility.

I don't know what else I could do but pretend to be an actor.

All creative people hate mathematics. It's the most uncreative subject you can study.

A superb tenor voice, like a silver trumpet muffled in silk.

That's no moon. It's a space station.

I shrivel up every time someone mentions Star Wars to me.