If man merely sat back and thought about his impending termination, and his terrifying insignificance and aloneness in the cosmos, he would surely go mad, or succumb to a numbing sense of futility. Why, he might ask himself, should he bother to write a great symphony, or strive to make a living, or even to love another, when he is no more than a momentary microbe on a dust mote whirling through the unimaginable immensity of space?

If it can be written, or thought, it can be filmed.

You either connect or you don't connect. It's not the end of the world. It's a movie.

I've never laid a cane on the back of a lord before, but if you force me to I shall speedily become used to the practice.

Gee, I wish we had one of them doomsday machines things.

The test of a work of art is, in the end, our affection for it, not our ability to explain why it is good.

Have you ever had a single moment's thought about my responsibilities?