The public only takes up yesterday as a stick to beat today.

Silence moves faster when it's going backward.

The audience bursts into laughter. With the tragic gag I don't expect the audience to laugh (if they do, I have failed) but I expect a black silence from them that is almost as violent: as laughter.

In Paris, everybody wants to be an actor; nobody is content to be a spectator.

The hot hall full of painted girls and American soldiers is a saloon in some Western film. This noise drenches us, wakens us to do something else. It shows us a lost path.

Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.

It is excruciating to be an unbeliever with a spirit that is deeply religious.