When I worked on 2001 - which was my first feature film - I was deeply and permanently affected by the notion that a movie could be like a first-person experience.

I visited a scientist who had a helmet with magnetic fields controlled by computer sequences that could profoundly affect your mood and your perceptions.

My particular aesthetic of light and color and design wouldn't change as a result of working with computer graphics rather than with slit scan or miniatures.

There's a consistency in my work that pops up independent of the limitations of the technology.

Clearly, if wed had the kind of computer graphics capability then that we have now, the Star Gate sequence would be much more complex than flat planes of light and color.

We're not that far from being able to plant images, memories, and emotional states directly into the brain.

I honestly believe that the next big leap in immersive technology will be very much like Brainstorm.

The technology of the time dictated the way things looked.

But as far as the concept of HAL, who HAL was, his character - I had no role in creating him.

Roads taken far away from you are many. Do not fear, Mother; they all lead back.

Most awards, you know, they don't give you unless you go and get them - did you know that? Terribly discouraging.

What I love most about Norway is you ladies. Back home I'm used to fat and hairy women journalists.

Just for being a religion at all you're as complicit as the rest in the retardation of the human intellectual progress.

If a waiter or waitress tells me when gratuity is included they automatically get more gratuity. When they hide it I go with the leg kick.

I usually don't get this pretty at 3 o'clock.

Every one must be familiar with the often expressed opinion, that, as a practical politician, Mr. Mill's career was essentially a failure.

When people start asking you to do the same thing over and over again, that's when you know you're way too close to something that you don't want to be near.

So, great. This is Camp…what do you call it? Camp Fish-Blood?” Aphros frowned. “I hope that was a joke. This is Camp __________.” He made a sound that was a series of sonar pings and hisses.

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.