One situation – maybe one alone – could drive me to murder: family life, togetherness.

If people have bought something of mine, they know by now that I will decline writing it for the movies

I can't write if someone else is in the house, not even the cleaning woman.

How was it possible to be afraid and in love... The two things did not go together. How was it possible to be afraid, when the two of them grew stronger together every day? And every night. Every night was different, and every morning. Together they possessed a miracle.

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

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