I seem to have run in a great circle, and met myself again on the starting line.
Benny was awake again. Happened every morning.
The course of the seasons is a piece of clockwork, with a cuckoo to call when it is spring.
I always have a big idea. It pops up every two to three years.
Like the sun and moon, they end but to begin anew; like the four seasons, they pass away to return once more.
Life isn't one thing after another, it's the same thing over and over.
It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it's one damn thing over and over.
We have been through this is biennial convulsion four or five different times over the past 10 or 12 years, and now it appears that we are going through this quiet agony all over again.
All that happens is as usual and familiar as the rose in spring and the crop in summer.
Success seems to go round in circles.
They've done it before and they'll do it again and when they do it -- seems that only the children weep. Good night.
Sometimes the tide is just out. But it always comes back in again. In times of severe distress, we tend to get tunnel vision and think this feeling will last forever. It will not.
Most sitcoms and cartoons, especially, you can rely on, because they go back to square one at the beginning of every episode.
I always say I'll never make a film in Austin in summer, but I always end up here.
