The only authors whom I acknowledge as American are the journalists. They indeed are not great writers, but they speak the language of their countrymen, and make themselves heard by them. 

Language is the archives of history.

The gift of a common tongue is a priceless inheritance and it may well some day become the foundation of a common citizenship.

What a glut of books! Who can read them? As already, we shall have a vast chaos and confusion of books; we are oppressed with them, our eyes ache with reading, our fingers with turning.

Unexemplary words and unfounded doctrines are avoided by the noble person. Why utter them?

Speech is the mirror of the soul; as a man speaks, so is he.

Making a film means, first of all, to tell a story. That story can be an improbable one, but it should never be banal. It must be dramatic and human. What is drama, after all, but life with the dull bits cut out?

Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands, and goes to work.

The chief merit of language is clearness, and we know that nothing detracts so much from this as do unfamiliar terms.

I rather think the cinema will die. Look at the energy being exerted to revive it—yesterday it was color, today three dimensions. I don’t give it forty years more. Witness the decline of conversation. Only the Irish have remained incomparable conversationalists, maybe because technical progress has passed them by.

Newspapers always excite curiosity. No one ever lays one down without a feeling of disappointment.

Language is the house of being. In its home human beings dwell. Those who think and those who create with words are the guardians of this home.

Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height.