I think the great artists (..) have always thought with the heart.

For a house, somewhere near Los Angeles I found an old church. Very old, no longer used. So we moved the church to the land, and I took off the steeple, and I got my hands dirty.

Rock Hudson was not an educated man, but that very beautiful body of his was putty in my hands.

I never regarded my pictures as very much to be proud of, except in this, the craft, the style.

These happy endings all express the weak and sly promise that the world is not rotten and out of joint but meaningful and ultimately in excellent condition.

So slowly in my mind formed the idea of melodrama, a form I found to perfection in American pictures. They were naive, they were that something completely different. They were completely Art-less.

In the 19th century, you had bourgeois art without politics - an almost frozen idea of what beauty is.