“’The Goldwyn touch,’ is not brilliance or sensationalism. It is something that manifests itself gradually in a picture; the characters are consistent; the workmanship is honest; there are no tricks and short cuts; the intelligence of the audience is never insulted.”
 
Alva Johnston, Saturday Evening Post (via Goldwyn, A Biography)

The Statue of Liberty is a fickle creature. Sometimes she welcomes the waves of immigrants yearning to breathe free, and other times she snubs them. The reason for her capriciousness? It might have something to do with the short memory of the American public. Immigration—and the assimilation that has usually accompanied it—is the strength of the United States, not its weakness.
 
Consider the wave of late 19th/early 20th Century immigration from Eastern Europe. It brought most of the original movie moguls who were fleeing the brutal pogroms of Russia, Ukraine, and Poland. Arriving via the East Coast, they eventually made their way to Los Angeles. From there, they conquered the world … well, if not physically, then at least its imagination. They transformed Hollywood, a sleepy teetotaling suburb of Los Angeles, into a geographically porous global behemoth.
 
Among those immigrant moguls (and probably the most beloved) was Samuel Goldwyn. His name will go down in history as one of the three names in Metro Goldwyn Mayer (MGM). Yet, he had departed by the time that studio reached its heyday. By then, he had formed Samuel Goldwyn Productions, a smaller, more bespoke studio. It produced fewer pictures a year than MGM, but what it lacked in output, it made up for in quality.

Goldwyn had a savant-like, totally original way of expressing himself (about which A. Scott Berg wrote brilliantly in Goldwyn, A Biography).  So distinct were Goldwyn's expressions that they eventually acquired their own neologism, Goldwynisms. Goldwyn was an American cousin of Sheridan's Mrs. Malaprop, the difference being his Goldwynisms arose spontaneously in real life; whereas, Sheridan's malaprops was written into a work of fiction. As to both, however, there was profundity. 
 
Rumor has it that Goldwyn’s staff of writers (among the best in the business) manufactured Goldwynisms of their own. As such, there is some question as to whether a particular saying originated with him or was instead a tribute. Of the following four examples, however, one is definitely not an authentic Goldwynism. Which one?

• “But all this modern music … it’s so old-fashioned.”
• “Anybody who goes to a psychiatrist—should have his head examined.”
•  “A verbal agreement isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”
• “I am much too ill to see the doctor.”

The answer is after the JUMP.

"One night Max [Perkins] set aside his red pencil and took [Thomas] Wolfe to Lüchow’s restaurant. After a few hours there, Tom wanted to walk off the hearty German food. He insisted that Perkins accompany him to see the apartment where he had written so much of his manuscript. Absentmindedly, Wolfe led Max to a brownstone he had vacated just a few weeks before. When he found his door locked, he searched for his keys, then growled something about having lost them. He led Max up the fire escape and into the large furnished railroad flat on the top floor of the building. Tom pointed out the refrigerator on which he had written the book, then offered Max a chair and poured a whiskey from the bottle sitting on the living room table. Several drinks later, the couple who lived in the apartment walked in. Max understood the situation in an instant and sank deeper into the chair ... while the wife ran for the police ..."
​
A. Scott Berg, Max Perkins: Editor of Genius

The National Book Award-winning Max Perkins: Editor of Genius was adapted into the 2016 film, Genius, starring Colin Firth as Max Perkins and Jude Law as Thomas Wolfe. Wolfe was an author/savant nearly free of guile, not to be confused with the as-talented but infinitely more calculating Tom Wolfe, he of the white suits, who died earlier this year.