“I’d like more of the world go back to being wild.”

I’d rather be a pig than a fascist.

I make films as a business, not as a cultural endeavor.

The characters are born from repetition.

Modern life is so thin and shallow and fake. I look forward to when developers go bankrupt, Japan gets poorer and wild grasses take over.

I’m not going to make movies that tell children, “You should despair and run away”.

Children understand intuitively that the world they have been born into is not a blessed world.

Stop trying. Take long walks. Look at scenery. Doze off at noon. Don’t even think about flying. And then, pretty soon, you’ll be flying again.

Our lives are like the wind or like sounds. We come into being, resonate with each other. Then fade away.

We depict hatred, but it is to depict that there are more important things. We depict a curse, to depict the joy of liberation.

If you release your subconscious it becomes really hard to live a social or family life.

The winds of time eventually turn them into the tools of industrial civillisation. It’s never unscathed.

First: don’t panic! Second: don’t panic! And third: did I mention not to panic?!

There are so many things we can’t do anything about if we think about generalities

I wanted to convey the message to children that this life is worth living.

Yet, even amidst the hatred and carnage, life is still worth living. It is possible for wonderful encounters and beautiful things to exist.

There are all kinds of values within the films but I don’t make message films.

History repeats itself, but the special call of an art which has passed away is never reproduced. It is as utterly gone out of the world as the song of a destroyed wild bird.

The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept.

Let yourself go a little wild, a little rough around through the edges; the human spirit wasn’t meant for carefully-curated perfection.

I’d rather sing one wild song and burst my heart with it, than live a thousand years watching my digestion and being afraid of the wet.

The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go.

The ones that you’re calling wild are going to be the leaders in a little while.

My mother, was perfectly horrified when I began shooting and tried to keep me in school, but I would run away and go quail shooting in the woods or trim my dresses with wreaths of wildflowers.

You are the gull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the wind, flying far out to sea, and happy all alone.