If Men Found Out How

Without Discipline And Detachment, An Actor Is An Emotional Slob, Spilling His Insides Out. This Abandonment Is Having An Unfortunate Vogue. It Is Tasteless, Formless, Absurd. Without Containment There Is No Art. All This Vomiting And Wheezing And Bursting At The Seams Is No More Great Acting Than The Convulsions Of Raving Maniacs.

I Sent My Flowers Across The Hall To Mrs Nixon But Her Husband Remembered What A Democrat I Am And Sent Them Back.

Old Age Is No Place For Sissies.

I Think Men Have Got To Change An Awful Lot. They Still Prefer The Little Woman.

Some Young Hollywood Starlets Remind Me Of My Grandmother's Old Farmhouse -- All Painted Up Nice On The Front Side, A Big Swing On The Backside, And Nothing Whatsoever In The Attic.