There is nothing more soul-satisfying than the first succulent bite into the juicy frankfurter.

We may all be a peculiar lot...often broke, often dissatisfied because we're not doing more and better work...but we know how to have a ball that makes the rest of the world seem square.

I know what I like—I like art—and I like what I know.

Do you ever rub your eyes and suddenly find you're awake and not asleep, as you'd grown to suspect you were?

I’m always intrigued by my nonsensical concern with picking out a bunch of things that look exactly alike the ones that somehow I feel are the best and belong to me. It’s that same crazy urge or superstition, or whatever it is, that makes me open a Bible in a hotel room, hoping for some great happenstance spiritual word of advice. More often than not, I hit a long passage of begats and begots, which contain little inspiration other than the fact that procreation is the highest aim of life.

Someone called actors 'sculptors in snow.' Very apt. In the end, it's all nothing.

We exponents of horror do much better than those Method actors. We make the unbelievable believable. More often than not, they make the believable unbelievable.