My imagination functions much better when I don't have to speak to people.

I think J.D. Salinger is correct in granting no interviews, and in making no speeches

I was in New York. Hitchcock was in California. He rang me to make a report on his progress and said, I'm having trouble. I've just sacked my second screenwriter

Robert Walker as Bruno was excellent. He had elegance and humor, and the proper fondness for his mother

January. It was all things. And it was one thing, like a solid door. Its cold sealed the city in a gray capsule. January was moments, and January was a year. January rained the moments down, and froze them in her memory: [...]Every human action seemed to yield a magic. January was a two-faced month, jangling like jester's bells, crackling like snow crust, pure as any beginning, grim as an old man, mysteriously familiar yet unknown, like a word one can almost but not quite define.

Honestly, I don't understand why people get so worked up about a little murder!

The conversation seemed just as boring and forgettable as details of American history around 1805, for example.