Hopefully, we can learn from the 60s that we cannot afford to do our enemies work by destroying each other.
Sometimes I just play the theme from Arthur. It reminds me of my childhood in New York and I just love it.
Like all art forms, film is a media as powerful as weapons of mass destruction; the only difference is that war destroys and film inspires.
Creativity is narcissism. Creativity is falling in love with one's self as you create. It's self-indulgent.
I love fear, and fear breeds creativity. It forces you to react instinctively, which is the essence of movement. Movement is a creativity - a sense of an emotional movement. And the more instinctual you can make that, the more pleasurable it is. It's like an infant drawing. You're completely uninhibited because creativity is a wonderful expression. Good or bad, who cares? That's part of the past. The act of creativity is what's interesting.
I am a child of cinema, and I am a cineaste, so everything I do is a reference to something I've heard or experienced or seen. And we all do it, we all steal. The ones who claim they don't, are obviously lying, because you do. You just have to make it your own.
I feel that silence is the greatest word, ever. When you don't talk, people begin to read things into you or you become what they long for. When you don't talk, you almost become the mirror image of the other person.
English wine is like Belgian rock or German disco: a waste of everyone's time and money.
I always had a very open mind and a very open heart. I always look for the good in everybody and the God in everybody. I play to that. And I just love people. I love the difference in people. I love getting to know people. I appreciate getting accepted myself, because I know I'm unusual. And I love the unusual in other people.
Ever since the Greek tragedies, artists have, from time to time, asked themselves how they might influence ongoing political events.
What are you doing in there, waxing your mustache?” Iggy yelled, pounding on the bathroom door. I yanked the door open and pushed him backward hard, making him stagger. “I don’t have a mustache, you idiot!” Iggy giggled and put his arms up to protect himself in case I punched him. “And you know what?” I added. “You don’t have one either. Well, maybe in a couple years. You can always hope. ” I left him in the hallway, anxiously fingering his upper lip.