Вуди Аллен: Apropos of Nothing

Meanwhile, I go about my middle-class life. I practice my horn (or as my mother used to say, “Oy, I have such a headache from him sitting in the bedroom, tweeting on his fife”). I turn out the pages, dote on Soon-Yi, and peel off twenties so my kids can go see movies that are not as good as ones I saw for twelve cents. How would I sum up my life? Lucky. Many stupid mistakes bailed out by luck. My biggest regret? Only that I’ve been given millions to make movies, total artistic control, and I never made a great film. If I could trade my talent for any other person’s, living or dead, who would it be? No contest—Bud Powell. Though Fred Astaire’s right up there. Who in history do I most admire? Shane, but he’s fictional. Any women? There have been so many I’ve admired, from standards like Eleanor Roosevelt and Harriet Tubman to Mae West and my cousin Rita. I’ll finally say, Soon-Yi. Not because if I don’t, she’ll kneecap me with the rolling pin, but because she hit the cruel streets alone at five to try for a better life, and despite dreadful obstacles made one for herself. The thing I most envy? Writing Streetcar . The thing I least envy? Frolicking in a meadow. If I had my life to do over, would I do anything different? I would not purchase that miracle vegetable slicer the guy advertised on TV. And really, no interest in a legacy? I’ve been quoted before on this, and I’ll leave it this way: Rather than live on in the hearts and mind of the public, I prefer to live on in my apartment.