I'll Place My Love Beneath The Stars.

You'd Like To Know Me Well, But I've Got Things Inside My Head That Even I Can't Face.

Comfort Comes Into Your House First As Guest, Then As A Host, Then Finally As The Master.

Critics I Don't Understand. They Get Too Intellectual. They're Not Very Well-versed In Street Talk; It Takes Them Longer To Say It. So They Have To Do It In Dictionaries And They Take Longer To Say It.

Since The Departure Of Good Old-fashioned Entertainers The Re-emergence Of Somebody Who Wants To Be An Entertainer Has Unfortunately Become A Synonym For Camp. I Don't Think I'm Camper Than Any Other Person Who Felt At Home On Stage, And Felt More At Home On Stage Than He Did Offstage.

The Only Real Failure Is Trying To Second-guess The Taste Of An Audience. Nothing Comes Out Of That Except A Kind Of Inward Humiliation.