I Don't Act, Anyway. The

The Funny Thing About Our Act Is That Dad Gets The Worst Of It, Although I'm The One Who Apparently Receives The Bruises [...] The Secret Is In Landing Limp And Breaking The Fall With A Foot Or A Hand. It's A Knack. I Started So Young That Landing Right Is Second Nature With Me. Several Times I'd Have Been Killed If I Hadn't Been Able To Land Like A Cat. Imitators Of Our Act Don't Last Long, Because They Can't Stand The Treatment.

I Don't Feel Qualified To Talk About My Work.

Down Through The Years My Face Has Been Called A Sour Puss, A Dead Pan, A Frozen Face, The Great Stone Face, And, Believe It Or Not, "a Tragic Mask." On The Other Hand That Kindly Critic, The Late James Agee, Described My Face As Ranking "almost With Lincoln's As An Early American Archetype, It Was Haunting, Handsome, Almost Beautiful." I Can't Imagine What The Great Rail Splitter's Reaction Would Have Been To This, Though I Sure Was Pleased.

No Man Can Be A Genius In Slapshoes And A Flat Hat.

They Say Pantomime's A Lost Art. It's Never Been A Lost Art And Never Will Be, Because It's Too Natural To Do.