I was reared in an atmosphere where a great deal of attention was paid to women's hairdressing.

If I speak of Vienna it must be in the past tense, as a man speaks of a woman he has loved and who is dead.

For my Vienna is as different from what they call Vienna now as the quick is different from the dead.

The picture has made its million back in four months; I have been overwhelmed by letters, hundreds of them, literally, begging me in my next production not to swing over the shallow trash of mother love, father love, sister love, brother love.

I can't remember how old I was, maybe 13, 14, and to see these fellows and hear their stories and to see life come to such a drab ending - my God, a poorhouse in those days was something. You would have to be inert not to respond to it.

The only condition of fighting for the right to create is faith in your own vocation, readiness to serve, and refusal to compromise.

I spend a lot of time thinking about this business of letting go - letting go of the children God gives to us for such a brief time before they go off on their own; letting go of old homes, old friends, old places and old dreams.

Have a little faith. Don't give up.