I lived a very don't-ask, don't-tell life.

People believe what they want to believe.

People place such importance on the external. It's disgusting.

I don't care whether people like me or dislike me. I'm not on earth to win a popularity contest. I'm here to be the best human being I possibly can be.

I did Polyester, and I dont regret one minute of it. It was wonderful.

John Wayne treated me fine, but that macho stuff turns me off. It's not real.

I learned denial from my mother. I just never confronted things and if anybody did, I just would go crazy.

I turned into a workaholic to the point of where my health was in jeopardy.

I said, God, the press and people, they just really hate me and I'm really trying. Geraldine Page said, Listen to this, Tab. If people don't like you, that's their bad taste.

Hollywood cools, and when it cools you have to go to where the work is. I ran off to Italy to do spaghetti westerns.

The people that really were important, that mattered, had a great foundation. I had no training. I had to learn while doing, and it was really difficult.

The reason for the past is only revealed in the future.

Saying just the right thing after a considerable, awkward pause is far less effective than saying the wrong thing with perfect timing. I'm telling you.

Courage is not defined by those who fought and did not fall, but by those who fought, fell and rose again.

Comedy has always been important in my family. If you got in a good joke at the dinner table, it meant more than almost anything else.

I'm a filmmaker who is known for these ambiguous portraits that tell multiple sides of the story without really telling the audience what to think.

I always individuate myself from other writers who say they would die if they couldn't write. For me, I'd die if I couldn't read.

The most effective way to manage change is to create it.

He was like me - a kindred spirit crazy enough to keep on trying.

Regarding R. H. Blyth: Two men who may be called pillars of the Western haiku movement, Harold G. Henderson and R. H. Blyth. . . .

A thin grey fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for summer was in England.