In Hollywood A Starlet Is The Name

Criticism Can Never Instruct Or Benefit You. Its Chief Effect Is That Of A Telegram With Dubious News. Praise Leaves No Glow Behind, For It Is A Writer's Habit To Remember Nothing Good Of Himself. I Have Usually Forgotten Those Who Have Admired My Work, And Seldom Anyone Who Disliked It. Obviously, This Is Because Praise Is Never Enough And Censure Always Too Much.

I Discovered Early In My Movie Work That A Movies Never Any Better Than The Stupidest Man Connected With It. There Are Times When This Distinction May Be Given To The Writer Or Director. Most Often It Belongs To The Producer.

I Haunted Streets, Whorehouses, Police Stations, Courtrooms, Theater Stages, Jails, Saloons, Slums, Madhouses, Fires, Murders, Riots, Banquet Halls And Bookshops. I Ran Everywhere In The City Like A Fly Buzzing In The Works Of A Clock, Tasted More Than Any Fit Belly Could Hold, Learned Not To Sleep, And Buried Myself In A Tick-tock Of Whirling Hours That Still Echo In Me.

Three Years Ago, The White Hope Of The Theatre. Today, A Mug. That's New York For You. Puts You On A Christmas Tree, And Then - The Alley.

The Factors That Laid Low So Whooping And Puissant An Empire As The Old Hollywood Are Many. I Can Think Of A Score, Including The Barbarian Hordes Of Television. But There Is One That Stands Out For Me In The Post-mortem.... The Factor Had To Do With The Basis Of Movie-making: 'who Shall Be In Charge Of Telling The Story.'