That’s one of the nice things about writing, or any art; if the thing’s real, it just lives. All the attendant hoopla about it, the success over it or the critical rejection—none of that really matters. In the end, the thing will survive or not on its own merits. Not that immortality via art is any big deal. Truffaut died, and we all felt awful about it, and there were the appropriate eulogies, and his wonderful films live on. But it’s not much help to Truffaut.

The only thing that does change, to some degree, is [that] you have some life experiences, you suffer a certain amount and you incorporate that into your work. Not in the content of your work, but in the sensibility of your work. It's nothing that you try and do; it just happens. And if you're lucky, people buy tickets to see it, and if you're not lucky, [then] they don't like it. But that's all.

When you work from city to city or country to country, you work the same way; the working method is the same.

I don't know what I want, but I know what I don't want

Some people think about sex all the time; some people think of sex some of the time; and some people never think about sex: they become lawyers.

There have been times when I've thought about it - but with my luck it would probably turn out to be only a temporary solution.

All things are possible, except skiing through a revolving door.