I'm always looking for insights into the real Doris Day because I'm stuck with this infatuation and need to explain it to myself.

Writers may be disreputable, incorrigible, early to decay or late to bloom but they dare to go it alone.

Musicians are very mysterious and wonderful people to me; I don't know how they do it.

Most of American life consists of driving somewhere and then returning home, wondering why the hell you went.

Life is like an overlong drama through which we sit being nagged by the vague memories of having read the reviews.

I did feel as though a number of critics had appointed themselves, when they sat down with a new book of mine, to rectify what they felt to be was my inflated reputation and so that the book in hand was not really given a chance but made a kind of weapon in the general attempt to bring me down to size.

The educational aspect of art shows has become overbearing: some of exhibits can leave you bleary from trying to read the walls. Presumably a piece of art is timeless and it can say something to us. You are taking away the right of art to talk for itself.