Central Europe is full of little countries standing shoulder to shoulder with no window to the sea. They are like the passengers in a rush-hour train which has stopped between stations for three centuries. And they all hate one another. And they're all crushed together waving their national flags, clanking their national chains, jabbering their national language.

I don't really act. I say the words the way I would say them if I meant them.

In England, nobody's your friend.

If at first you don't succeed, failure may be your style.

It's a strange situation, but people will pay your fare to get you to go and tell them how to be happy.

I take it to be axiomatic that people are revolted by witnessing the shameless gratification of an appetite they do not share.

No effort is required to define or even attain happiness, but enormous concentration is needed to abandon everything else.