I hate Technicolor. Everybody in a Technicolor movie seems to feel obliged to wear a lurid costume in each new scene and to stand around like a clotheshorse with a lot of very green trees or very yellow wheat or very blue ocean rolling away for miles and miles in every direction.

It was my first big chance, but here I was, sitting back and letting it run through my fingers like so much water.

I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running.

I knew you'd decide to be all right again.

I wondered what I thought I was burying.