“Retirement at sixty-five is ridiculous. When I was sixty-five I still had pimples.”

This is the sixth book I’ve written, which isn’t bad for a guy who’s only read two.

I don’t believe in dying. It’s been done. I’m working on a new exit. Besides, I can’t die now – I’m booked.

I smoke ten to fifteen cigars a day. At my age I have to hold on to something.

Acting is all about honesty. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.

Too bad all the people who know how to run this country are busy running taxicabs or cutting hair.

The most important thing in acting is honesty. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.

It takes only one drink to get me drunk. The trouble is, I can’t remember if it’s the thirteenth or the fourteenth.

I spent a year in that town, one Sunday.

You’ve got to be honest; if you can fake that, you’ve got it made.

Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.

I’m at the age now where just putting my cigar in its holder is a thrill.

At my age flowers scare me.

If you live to be one hundred, you’ve got it made. Very few people die past that age.

First you forget names, then you forget faces. Next you forget to pull your zipper up and finally, you forget to pull it down.

I would go out with women my age, but there are no women my age.

I’d rather be a failure at something I love than a success at something I hate.