Steve Martin Quotes

Did not go well at mall. Passerby said, “how’s the screenplay goin’, Steve?” Worried about tomorrow’s performance on CSI… and Emmy.

COHEN We were all caught in a trap of circumstance. LOUISE How so? COHEN This event, this failure of a knot in a string, catapulted us into rare air. Our desires became disconnected from this earth. Versati motivated by fantasy, myself motivated by jealousy. Your mind clouded by romance.

Be pompous, obese, and eat cactus
Be dull and boring and omnipresent
Criticize things you don't know about
Be oblong and have your knees removed

I believe entertainment can aspire to be art, and can become art, but if you set out to make art you're an idiot.

How is it possible to miss a woman whom you kept at a distance, so that when she was gone you would not miss her?

Mirabelle is attractive; it's just that she is never the first or second girl chosen.

Now that I had assigned myself an act without jokes, I gave myself a rule. Never let them know I was bombing

confidently motivated by poor judgment, I dropped in one-quarter of a Quaalude.

Always...no wait...never.....

Were they beautiful? We were all beautiful. We were in our twenties.

You know that look that women get when they want to have sex? Me neither.

"LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA: WHY IT'S A BAD TITLE

I admit that "Love in the time of . . ." is a great title, up to a point. You're reading along, you're happy, it's about love. I like the way the word time comes in - a nice, nice feeling. Then the morbid Cholera appears. I was happy till then. Why not "Love in the Time of the Blue, Blue, Bluebirds"? "Love in the Time of Oozing Sores and Pustules" is probably an earlier title the author used as he was writing in a rat-infested tree house on an old Smith Corona. This writer, whoever he is, could have used a couple of weeks in Pacific Daylight Time."

As she sits in a booth, it never occurs to her to observe herself, and thus she is spared the image of a girl sitting alone in a bar on Saturday night. A girl who is willing to give every ounce of herself to someone, who could never betray her lover, who never suspects maliciousness of anyone, and whose sexuality sleeps within her, waiting to be stirred. .... She keeps working to make connections, but the pile of near misses is starting to overwhelm her. What Mirabelle needs is some omniscient voice to illuminate and spotlight her, and to inform everyone that this one has value, this one over here, the one sitting in the bar by herself, and then to find her counterpart and bring him to her.

"But my mother was aglow. She had a continuing fascination with celebrities, and now she had one of her own. She was never moved by what I was doing (in an interview she said, "He writes his own material, I’m always telling him he needs a new writer")…"

Hmm. Reports of a monster in the Loch Ness. It baffles the scientists, and it bothers me. I do not need these little mysteries. The unexplainable makes me nervous. I have my home, and everything that comes in the door I understand. I don’t have to worry that the faucet will spit fire. I do not have to worry that the bird will attack the dog. The clock will strike six when it is six and not seven. It is like me; it is my kind of clock.