The prison psychiatrist asked me if I thought sex was dirty. I told him only when it's done right.

I wonder if Socrates and Plato took a house on Crete during the summer.

People say that death is a part of life and there must be something to it, but I just see it as bad news and I want everybody to stop sugarcoating it.

For some reason I'm more appreciated in France than I am back home. The subtitles must be incredibly good.

One of the wonderful things about making a film of any genre is that you have dialogue. You can take up a position. If you want to say something about your position, you can just say it. You don't have to spend massive amounts of screen time.

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.

More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.