The forest of Compiegne. Look at it. Like a kind grandmother dozing in her rocking chair. Old trees practicing curtsies in the wind because they still think Louis XIV is king.
Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.
I’ve met a lot of hardboiled eggs in my time, but you’re twenty minutes.
One’s too many and a hundred’s not enough.
I’d worship the ground you walked on if only you walked in a better neighborhood.
I would rather sleep in a bathroom than in another hotel.
I’m delighted with it, because it used to be that films were the lowest form of art. Now we’ve got something to look down on.
We are on the track of something absolutely mediocre...
Develop a clean line of action for your leading character.
Now, what is it which makes a scene interesting? If you see a man coming through a doorway, it means nothing. If you see him coming through a window – that is at once interesting.
My Aunt Minnie would always be punctual and never hold up production, but who would pay to see my Aunt Minnie?
You know, that stuff about pink elephants, that’s the bunk. It’s little animals. Little tiny turkeys in straw hats. Midget monkeys coming through the keyholes.
When Chaplin found a voice to say what was on his mind, he was like a child of eight writing lyrics for Beethoven’s Ninth.
I hate that word. It’s return – a return to the millions of people who’ve never forgiven me for deserting the screen.
I had one life. And what did I do? Wasted it in some palooka preliminaries in Spain, just before Hitler and Chamberlain warm up for the main event.
Money makes even bastards legitimate.
I don’t go to church. Kneeling bags my nylons.
I’m not happy. I’m not happy at all.
On Ernst Lubitsch: He could do more with a closed door than other directors could do with an open fly.
I just made pictures I would’ve liked to see.
Ever notice how these European trains always smell of eau de cologne and hard boiled eggs?