Here, in my solitude, I have the feeling that I contain too much humanity.
I am living permanently in my dream, from which I make brief forays into reality.
Old age is like climbing a mountain. You climb from ledge to ledge. The higher you get, the more tired and breathless you become, but your views become more extensive.
No form of art goes beyond ordinary consciousness as film does, straight to our emotions, deep into the twilight room of the soul.
One of ennui’s most terribel components is the overwhelming feeling of ennui that comes over you whenever you try to explain it.
We make each other alive; it doesn’t make a difference if it hurts.
Only someone who is well prepared has the opportunity to improvise.
Film as dream, film as music. No art passes our conscience in the way film does, and goes directly to our feelings, deep down into the dark rooms of our souls.
I make all my decisions on intuition. But then, I must know why I made that decision. I throw a spear into the darkness. That is intuition. Then I must send an army into the darkness to find the spear. That is intellect.