What I have always loved most in men is imperfection. I get moved by the wrinkles on the throat of a man. It makes me love him more. I think it is sad that more women don't take the chance that maybe men will be moved by seeing the chin a little less firm than it used to be, that a man will be more in love with his wife because he remembers who she was and sees who she is and thinks, God, isn't that lovely that this happened to her. And be moved by life telling its story there.

One of the things I like about my profession, and that I find healthy, is that one constantly has to break oneself to pieces.

I believe we come to earth with sealed orders. I believe that only those who lack passion look down on purpose.

I looked into the mirror and saw this middle-aged woman who keeps invading my face.

I just think that sometimes it is less hard to wake up feeling lonely when you are alone than to wake up feeling lonely when you are with someone else. Some people would be better off alone, but they feel they've got to get hold of someone to prove they're worthwhile.

I think of all the choices I never knew. And those I let be made for me - to please, from fear, for love. Where did they disappear to, those choices that I never made? They are all part of who I am. They are the legacy I leave behind, they are the finished portrait of myself I cannot change.

Sometimes I get a little tired of it. But you know, what a privilege, to get tired of working with Ingmar Bergman.