My theory has always been that if we are to dream the flatteries of hope are as cheap and pleasanter than the gloom of despair.

So I got home and the phone was ringing. I picked it up and said 'Who's speaking please?' And a voice said 'You are.'

My biggest nightmare is I'm driving home and get sick and go to hospital. I say: 'Please help me.' And the people say: 'Hey you look like...' And I'm dying while they're wondering whether I'm Barbra Streisand.

Bad psychoanalysis would say I enjoyed pleasing people working really hard and pleasing people which is probably related to my father in some way. But I really liked working hard. When I worked at Disneyland I'd do 12 hours straight and go home thrilled.

If my world were to cave in tomorrow I would look back on all the pleasures excitements and worthwhilenesses I have been lucky enough to have had. Not the sadness not my miscarriages or my father leaving home but the joy of everything else. It will have been enough.

Happy happy Christmas that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home!

The house has to please everyone contrary to the work of art which does not. The work is a private matter for the artist. The house is not.

Love is more pleasant than marriage for the same reason that novels are more amusing than history.

Religions which condemn the pleasures of sense drive men to seek the pleasures of power. Throughout history power has been the vice of the ascetic.

The old problems - love money security status health etc. - are still here to plague us or please us.