"Pulp Fiction was probably one of the first films I ever saw that really kind of took effect on me. I was about four years old — obviously wasn’t supposed to be seeing that film; my sister kind of sneaked it out and we got to see it. She’s older than me. That was something I always used to watch. I loved the scenes with John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson; when I was older I could understand a little more. It was funny, me and my sister would have this little running thing where we’d know the lines to Ezekiel 25:17. My sister actually bought me a wallet that had “Bad Mother F**ker” written on it. But yeah, Tarantino. That was where my appreciation of directors began. It was beyond the actors at that point. Everything he’s touched I’ve loved. I became a huge fan of him and his work."

"A few years ago, I read that Mike Nichols made sure there was always a window or door visible near Benjamin when he was with Mrs. Robinson. As if to say he could have left at any time. He wasn’t a victim. This movie endures for me because it keeps changing in significance. It began as a risqué and wild peek into a slightly nerdy guy’s life. Now, as a middle-aged mother, I see it differently. For starters, Anne Bancroft was only thirty-five years old during filming—she was hardly the crone or predator I had viewed her as when I was a girl. In fact, watching it now, I see a woman who is toying with a curious young man, a woman stepping off the grid for something that is entirely her own and not meant for public consumption. In my imagination, Mrs. Robinson has other lovers, and The Graduate is just a moment in her arc of disillusionment."

"This is my favorite Fellini film because it’s the one I identify with the most. On the surface, Cabiria has her act together. She insists on working for herself. She owns her own house and has savings. Even when she’s feeling awed by a big movie star, she stands up for herself and yells at him when he orders her around. But the instant she’s alone, vulnerability and self-doubt are written all over her face, and she is at the world’s mercy. Throughout the film, you feel everything Cabiria feels. For me, one of the most horrifying shots of all time is one in which Cabiria is sitting in a restaurant displaying her gigantic bundle of money to the man who is going to steal it. When I showed the film to my mother, she was traumatized by that image as well and kept saying, “I couldn’t stand to see her holding that huge money!”"

"The best book I’ve ever received as a gift was actually the best gift I ever received from my mother, too. When I was young, she gave me “Letters: Summer 1926,” about the three-way correspondence between Rainer Maria Rilke, Marina Tsvetayeva and Boris Pasternak. Three brilliant minds that had never met, all writing sonnets and passionate letters to each other for four years, eventually falling in love with each other through this correspondence. Seeing this love triangle unfold through actual letters was very exciting for me as a young girl. Later in life, I met Susan Sontag, and she told me she wanted to give me a new edition of a book for which she had recently written the foreword. You can understand my surprise when I discovered it was this very same book. She was always giving me books over the course of our friendship, but this one is the most precious to me, especially since she is no longer with us"