There's Nothing Wrong With Being An Actor,

The Years Thunder By, The Dreams Of Youth Grow Dim Where They Lie Caked In Dust On The Shelves Of Patience. Before We Know It, The Tomb Is Sealed.

What Does A Man Need - Really Need? A Few Pounds Of Food Each Day, Heat And Shelter, Six Feet To Lie Down In - And Some Form Of Working Activity That Will Yield A Sense Of Accomplishment. That's All - In The Material Sense, And We Know It. But We Are Brainwashed By Our Economic System Until We End Up In A Tomb Beneath A Pyramid Of Time Payments, Mortgages, Preposterous Gadgetry, Playthings That Divert Our Attention From The Sheer Idiocy Of The Charade. The Years Thunder By.

There's Is Not Enough Money In Hollywood To Lure Me Into Making Another Picture With Joan Crawford. And I Like Money.

A Sailing Ship Is No Democracy; You Don't Caucus A Crew As To Where You'll Go Anymore Than You Inquire When They'd Like To Shorten Sail.

Somehow It Is The Male's Duty To Put The Best Years Of His Life Into Work He Doesn't Like In Order That He May "retire" And Enjoy Himself As Soon As He Is Too Old To Do So. This Is More Than Just The System - It Is The Credo. It Is The Same Thing That Prompted Thoreau To Say, In 1839: 'the Majority Of Men Lead Lives Of Quiet Desperation.'