The thought that we are enduring the unendurable is one of the things that keeps us going.

There are two cinemas: the films we have actually seen and the memories we have of them.

As so often happens in marriage, roles that had begun almost playfully, to give line and shape to our lives, had hardened like suits of armor and taken us prisoner.

Being alone and liking it is, for a woman, an act of treachery, an infidelity far more threatening than adultery.

The mammary fixation is the most American of the sex fetishes.

One of the attributes of love . . . is to bring harmony and order out of chaos.

I would trade many an art-film classic for the final exchange between Redford and Streisand in front of the Plaza.