When I appeared before the draft board examiner during World War II, he asked me if I thought I could kill. "I don't know about strangers," I replied, "but friends, certainly."

I don't drink. I don't like it. It makes me feel good.

I'm a self-made man. Who else would help?

Self-pity - it's the only pity that counts.

George, if you had to do it all over, would you fall in love with yourself again?

I've given up reading books. I find it takes my mind off myself.

You can't possibly hear the last movement of Beethoven's Seventh and go slow. (Oscar trying to talk his way out of a speeding ticket)