Here, In My Solitude, I Have The

I'm Planning, You See, To Try To Confine Myself To The Truth. That's Hard For An Old, Inveterate Fantasy Martyr And Liar Who Has Never Hesitated To Give Truth The Form He Felt The Occasion Demanded.

Art Lost Its Basic Creative Drive The Moment It Was Separated From Worship. It Severed An Umbilical Cord And Now Lives Its Own Sterile Life, Generating And Degenerating Itself. In Former Days The Artist Remained Unknown And His Work Was To The Glory Of God.

Artistic License Sneered Through The Thin Fabric.

I Was A Very Unpleasant Young Man. If I Met The Young Ingmar Today I'd Say, 'you're Very Talented And I'll Try To Help You, But I Don't Want Anything Else To Do With You.

We Make Each Other Alive; It Doesn’t Make A Difference If It Hurts.