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It was post war. It was very gray, very dreary. Everything was still rationed when I first saw the United States in 1951. I went over to visit my sister who was a war bride.

There's a gray area there that I'm satisfied is not gray.

The moon is essentially gray, no color; looks like plaster of Paris or sort of a grayish beach sand.

It is still color, it is not yet light.

Entertainment came out of this thing called a television, and it was gray. Most of the films that we saw at the cinema were black and white. It was a gray world. And music somehow was in color.

The color of truth is gray.

Everything is not black-and-white. I'm really interested in the gray area - not justifying it, not glorifying it, not condoning it, but at least having people see there's a genesis for every event in our lives. There's some divine order to it, whether it's ugly or beautiful.

Everything in life is gray, you know.