“What to do when inspiration doesn't come; be careful not to spook, get the wind …” — John Huston

I prefer to think that God is not dead, just drunk.

It's not color, it's like pouring 40 tablespoons of sugar water over a roast.

You walk through a series of arches, so to speak, and then, presently, at the end of a corridor, a door opens and you see backward through time, and you feel the flow of time, and realize you are only part of a great nameless procession.

I don't try to guess what a million people will like. It's hard enough to know what I like.