Sob, heavy world Sob as you spin, Mantled in mist Remote from the happy.

History marched to the drums of a clear idea...

I don't get acting jobs because of my looks.

A craftsman knows in advance what the finished result will be, while the artist knows only what it will be when he has finished it.

Human beings are, necessarily, actors who...can be divided...into the sane who know they are acting and the mad who do not.

The stars are dead. The animals will not look: We are left alone with our day, and the time is short, and History to the defeated May say Alas but cannot help nor pardon.

The class distinctions proper to a democratic society are not those of rank or money, still less, as is apt to happen when these are abandoned, of race, but of age.