“The free man is not he who defies the rules … but he who, recognizing the compulsions inherent in his being, seeks rather to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest each day’s experience.”

I do not love in order that I may be loved back again, but for the creative joy of loving. And every time I do so love I am freed, at least a little, by the outgoing of love, from enslavement to that most intolerable of master, myself.

To love is not a passive thing. To love is active voice. When I love I do something, I function, I give.

To be artist, and lover, that is the true goal, the only adequate objective, the divinely destined end for man.

A good education is not so much one which prepares a man to succeed in the world, as one which enables him to sustain a failure.

I used to think I couldn’t go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.

Television is 15 hour days. Movies are 18 hour days. And it’s 18 hours of doing not a thing.

Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.

My wife’s jealousy is getting ridiculous. The other day she looked at my calendar and wanted to know who May was.

I could do no wrong in my mother’s eyes from the day I was born. My fans bought her a very nice house in San Antonio, and she has a great life.

For me, one of the toughest things about Valentine’s Day is that it gets geared up as the day to profess your love. See, T-E-S-T – that’s a bad word that doesn’t go with L-O-V-E.

I had plenty of pimples as a kid. One day I fell asleep in the library. When I woke up, a blind man was reading my face.

Every day you spend drifting away from your goals is a waste not only of that day, but also of the additional day it takes to regain lost ground.