It's My Job, It's What I Do,

It Is Time For Me To Chuck In The Sponge. To Retire From Films And Stage. The Heart For It Has Gone Out Of Me: It Won't Come Back.

What I Like Is Bottomless Flattery.

Marriage Is Forever. It's Like Cement.

Not Everyone Can Become A Great Artist; But A Great Artist *can* Come From *anywhere*.

Many Years Ago I Sent An Old, Beloved Jacket To A Cleaner, The Sycamore Cleaners. It Was A Leather Jacket Covered In Guinness And Blood And Marmalade, One Of Those Jobs... And It Came Back With A Little Note Pinned To It, And On The Note It Said, 'it Distresses Us To Return Work Which Is Not Perfect.' So That Will Do For Me. That Can Go On My Tombstone.