I think that-that anyone, the painter, the musician, the writer works in a-a kind of an-an insane fury. He's demon-driven. He can get up feeling rotten, with a hangover, or with-with actual pain, and-and if he gets to work, the first thing he knows, he don't remember that pain, that hangover-he's too busy.

Only when the clock stops does time come to life

...how false the most profound book turns out to be when applied to life.

Man performs and engenders so much more than he can or should have to bear. That's how he finds that he can bear anything.

Hollywood is a place where a man can get stabbed in the back while climbing a ladder.

I will never lie again.

So long as the deceit ran along quiet and monotonous, all of us let ourselves be deceived, abetting it unawares or maybe through cowardice.