I Don't Know How To Make The

They Luxuriated In The Feeling Of Deep And All Pervading Satisfaction, A Feeling Of Knowing Absolutely That All Was Well With The World And Them And That The World Was Not Only Their Oyster It Was Also Their Linguine With Clam Sauce. Not Only Were All Things Possible, But All Things Were Theirs.

I Don't Know How To Make The Critics Happy!

I Do Believe This: That What We Call Love Is Always Available To Us. And Of Course I'm Not Just Talking About Passion. I'm Talking About Love Where You Just Can't Conceive That Your Life Isn't Perfect, That You Can't Conceive Of Wanting Anything.

... I Started To Die 36 Hours Before I Was Born, So Dying Was A Way Of Life For Me.

I Don't Know That I Could Really Define Love. I Can't . . . Again, It's Like Trying To Define What This Creative Force Is. It's Beyond My Ability To Really Define. If I Can Define It, Then It's Not It. We're Right Back To That Thing Again.