A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure.

The soul of man has been given wings and at last he is beginning to fly!

I'm unconscious while I'm acting. I live the role and am not myself.

My costume helps me to express my conception of the average man, of almost any man, of myself. The derby, too small, is a striving for dignity. The mustache is vanity. The tightly buttoned coat and the stick and his whole manner are a gesture toward gallantry and dash and 'front.' He is chasing folly, and he knows it. He is trying to meet the world bravely, to put up a bluff, and he knows that, too. He knows it so well that he can laugh at himself and pity himself a little.

That is why, no matter how desperate the predicament is, I am always very much in earnest about clutching my cane, straightening my derby hat and fixing my tie, even though I have just landed on my head.

All I need is the opportunity,' I said confidently. He smiled. 'Seventeen's very young, and you look even younger.' I shrugged off-handedly. 'That's a question of make-up.' Karno laughed. That shrug, he told Sydney later, got me the job.