All through the long winter, I dream of my garden. On the first day of spring, I dig my fingers deep into the soft earth. I can feel its energy, and my spirits soar.

We may be living in the twentieth century, in resplendent sophistication. But deep down, most of us find ourselves still in the Stone Age of superstition.

I cry out for order and find it only in art.

There is no racial or religious prejudice among people in the theater. The only prejudice is against bad actors, especially successful ones.

Actors work and slave and it is the color of your hair that can determine your fate in the end.

The old-fashioned idea that the simple piling up of experiences, one on top of another, can make you an artist, is, of course, so much rubbish. If acting were just a matter of experience, then any busy harlot could make Garbo's Camille pale.

Always aim for achievement, and forget about success.