There never seems to be any trouble brewing around a bar until a woman puts that high heel over the brass rail. Don't ask me why, but somehow women at bars seem to create trouble among men.
The only way to find the best actor would be to let everybody play Hamlet and let the best man win.
Ain’t nothing a man can’t do if he believes in himself.
The only reason to make a million dollars in this business is to tell some fat producer to go to hell.
It is at least worth arguing that there is a modicum of the creative novelist in all of us, and that this absorption with how men get out of difficulties, single-handedly and alone if possible, is the stuff of which we weave the warp and woof of our own better dramatic imaginings.