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

I am always sorry when any language is lost, because languages are the pedigrees of nations.

It is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.

God never sent a messenger save with the language of his folk, that he might make the message clear for them.

How absurd men are! They never use the liberties they have, they demand those they do not have. They have freedom of thought, they demand freedom of speech.

Language is the archives of history.

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

Writing cannot express words fully; words cannot express thoughts fully.

Anyone who doesn’t know foreign languages knows nothing of his own.

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?

I sometimes think of what future historians will say of us. A single sentence will suffice for modern man: he fornicated and read the papers.

No one gossips about other people’s secret virtues.

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.