My professional acting life, stage and screen, has brought me public support, emotional fulfillment and material comfort. It has brought me together with fine people, good companions with whom I've shared the inevitable lot of all actors: flops and hits.

I'm a working stiff, baby, just like everybody else.

One time in the late '50s, when Peter Finch, Laurence Harvey, and I were all offered the same movie role - the assumption being that we weren't friends - we marched up to producer Dino De Laurentiis's door and declared in unison, 'We don't think we're suitable for the part.'

It is time for me to chuck in the sponge. To retire from films and stage. The heart for it has gone out of me: it won't come back.

I can't stand light. I hate weather. My idea of heaven is moving from one smoke-filled room to another.

If you do not surrender, I shall be forced to shoot you through the head with a rather large bullet.

I have no memories I'm prepared to share with you.