Look at the real prodigies, and I look like nothing compared to them.

In my real movie-going days, which were the thirties, you didn't stand in line. You strolled down the street and sallied into the theater at any hour of the day or night.

I hate television. I hate it as much as peanuts. But I can't stop eating peanuts.

Husbands should revolt from time to time. Even the best circus-number becomes boring if the beast is too tame.

The trouble with a movie is that it's old before it's released. It's no accident that it comes in a can.

Our works in stone, in paint, in print, are spared, some of them, for a few decades or a millennium or two, but everything must finally fall in war, or wear away into the ultimate and universal ash - the triumphs, the frauds, the treasures and the fakes. A fact of life: we're going to die. "Be of good heart," cry the dead artists out of the living past. "Our songs will all be silenced, but what of it? Go on singing." Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much.

Hollywood is a gold-plated suburb suitable for golfers, gardeners, assorted middlemen, and contented movies stars. I am none of these things.