30 ordspråk av Conrad Veidt

Conrad Veidt

Conrad Veidt föddes den 22 januar 1893
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An actor remembers his first piece of published praise. It is written on his heart.

Have you ever walked late at night through a forest when you are first in love?

The one thing I look for everywhere is beauty. I find it everywhere, and in almost every person. A lovely painting, a good book, or music moves me. It has a life of its own. But I get just as satisfying a thrill when I look at streets wet with rain or see a typist's quick fingers traveling with precision over her keyboard.

I think, myself, it is harder for two artists, both ambitious, both temperamental, both perhaps egotistical, to jog along equably in the necessarily restraining atmosphere of a double harness.

I used to think then that I was Bohemian, but I know now that I am not. I prefer order and precision to untidiness and looseness.

It is my greatest joy to live a really good part, even though it imposes great strain. An artist is tired but proud when he has created a great work of art. So it is with the actor who really lives a great role and is proud of the part he played.

My birth neither shook the German Empire nor caused much of an upheaval in the home. It pleased mother, caused father a certain amount of pride and my elder brother the usual fraternal jealousy of a hitherto only son.

I wish, naturally to prevent the possibility that someone may write an accidental, superficial, incomplete and perhaps untrue picture of me.

In the middle of my third Hollywood picture The Magician, the earthquake hit Hollywood. Not the real earthquake. Just the talkies.

I can see now that I should have been strong enough to conquer myself.

I was elated by my success in my work, but shattered over my mother's death, and miserable about the way my marriage seemed to be foundering. And one day when my wife was away, I walked out of the house, and out of her life, trying to escape from something I could put no name to.

Looking back across the years, so many pictures flash on the screen of my memory that just as I begin to see one clearly, another slides in, blotting out the first, itself to be pushed aside by the next and the next and the next.

Nothing seems to come up to your expectations. But nothing I had heard about Hollywood was enough.

My father died. It is still a deep regret to me this day that in choosing acting as my career I was forced to hurt him. He died too early to see I had done the right, the only thing.

After my mother died, I found, a little book of hers which recorded everything I had ever done, how I had done it, and how proud she was of her son Conrad.

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