People are always doing things for my sake and strangely enough, I'm the one who suffers for it.
Time was a funny and fickle thing. Sometimes there was never enough of it, and other times it stretched out endlessly.
I grew up with an older brother who was always stronger and faster and better than me at everything, but I was close enough in age to try and compete, so we had a competitive childhood.
My children didn't when they were little because I thought that they had to be of a certain age. I hoped they liked me well enough not to want to see me in that sort of a spot.
There is no doubt that someone who tries to throw a curve or pitch at any early age before he's developed, before his hand is big enough to grip the ball correctly, will damage his arm.
A simple enough pleasure, surely, to have breakfast alone with one's husband, but how seldom married people in the midst of life achieve it.
Pressure is an emotional paralysis. It's hard enough to do the dishes when you're feeling pressured, let alone make a movie.
It's often just enough to be with someone. I don't need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You're not alone.
Amazing that the human race has taken enough time out from thinking about food or sex to create the arts and sciences.
If you're inclined to dismiss L.A. as a place of unrelenting vapidity and generic 1980s architecture, then you're doing yourself and L.A. a huge disservice, and you're just not looking hard enough.
The creative act lasts but a brief moment, a lightning instant of give-and-take, just long enough for you to level the camera and to trap the fleeting prey in your little box.
I wanted to work in the arts. My dream come true would be to be an architectural historian and work with the royal palaces and all the fabulous art collections. But I'm not committed enough.
Form your life humanly, and you have done enough: but you will never reach the height of art and the depth of science without something divine.
In our day the conventional element in literature is elaborately disguised by a law of copyright pretending that every work of art is an invention distinctive enough to be patented.
I'm not intelligent enough to be a doctor, and kind of hands down you can't argue with the worth of that. But I don't really have an opinion about the worth of making art.
... , everyone’s life was hard, and if you’d survived the hardship, why write about it? Survival itself was enough.
If you look deep enough into anything, sense is always there to be made, wouldn’t you agree?
Tonight started innocently enough. Most terrible things do, right?
Where there is energy to command well enough, obedience never fails.
Love is one of those topics that plenty of people try to write about but not enough try to do.
If you build the guts to do something, anything, then you better save enough to face the consequences.
