“I’m a Red-baiter; I’m a witch-hunter if the witches are Communists.”

He has a heart of gold – only harder.

When I realized they had me pegged as a foreign nobleman type I began to live the part, too.

Clothes have always had a wonderful influence on my physical well-being as well as my self-assurance.

Aren’t grown up people just little children at heart?

I bought a pair of white spats, an ascot tie and a walking stick.

My fur-lined overcoat gave me such a glow of health that very shortly after acquiring it.

All I have to do to make me feel like a new and younger man is to order three new suits of clothes.

My success has been as full of luck as a crapshooter’s dream.

In those silent-film days it was the mark of a villain.

It was my mustache that landed jobs for me.

I was able to enjoy the hazards of a Gargantuan studio cocktail party without a single twinge of pain.

Aggressive spirit, joy of action, and the passion of the hunter.

Like the hunter who stalks his prey and maneuvers himself unnoticed into the most favourable position for the kill

Vegetarian – that’s an old Indian word meaning lousy hunter.

Nature taking its course – hunter and prey, the endless circle of life and death.

I grew up around hunters. I love guns, bows, arrows, compasses and binoculars. I don’t do any of that stuff, I just like the stuff. I shot one animal, in my life, and I didn’t like it. If I had to skin an animal to eat it, I’d probably eat vegetables.

I will remain what I am until I die, a hunter, and when there are no buffalo or other game I will send my children to hunt and live on prairie, for where an Indian is shut up in one place his body becomes weak.

I’d rather go to jail than give the hunters a penny.

Those who would hunt a man need to remember that a jungle also contains those who hunt the hunters.