Conditions in the [movie] industry somehow propose the paradox: "We brought you here for your individuality but while you're here we insist that you do everything to conceal it.

Begin with an individual, and before you know it you find that you have created a type; begin with a type, and you find that you have created - nothing.

One hurries through, even though there's time; the past, the continent, is behind; the future is the glowing mouth in the side of the ship; the dim, turbulent alley is too confusedly the present.

He's so dumb he doesn't know he's alive.

Optimism is the content of small men in high places.

To create souls in men, to create fine happiness and fine despair she must remain deeply proud - proud to be inviolate, proud also to be melting, to be passionate and possessed.

This is what I think now: that the natural state of the sentient adult is a qualified unhappiness.