A hit for me is if I enjoy the movie, if I personally enjoy the

Hear the words of Ridley Scott, master of vision and architect of cinematic worlds, who declared with humility and strength: “A hit for me is if I enjoy the movie, if I personally enjoy the movie.” In this statement lies a truth deeper than the glitter of box office numbers or the fleeting chorus of critics. He speaks of the sacred measure of success—not as the world counts it, but as the artist himself must reckon it. For true greatness is not in pleasing the crowd, but in remaining faithful to one’s own spirit.

The meaning of this quote lies in its rejection of external judgment as the ultimate standard. Scott, who has directed both celebrated triumphs and works once dismissed, reminds us that the artist’s duty is not to conform to the shifting tides of popularity. A hit, in the truest sense, is not what fills the coffers, nor what earns applause, but what fills the creator with satisfaction, with the knowledge that he has shaped something authentic. To enjoy one’s own work—to look upon it and know it carries one’s soul—that is the real victory.

The ancients knew this wisdom. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, wrote in his Meditations that a man should not seek the praise of others, for it is as fleeting as the wind. Instead, he must find contentment in acting according to his nature and values. So too does Scott speak: the measure of a film is not the voices outside, but the harmony within. To create what one can respect in oneself is to stand firm, even if the crowd passes by indifferent.

History offers an example in Vincent van Gogh. In his lifetime, his paintings were scorned, unsold, uncelebrated. Yet he found joy in the act of creation, in the colors that danced upon his canvases, in the landscapes he poured his heart into. The world called him a failure, but in his own soul, he had already achieved his hit. Today, the same world that once ignored him treasures his works beyond price. His life teaches us, as does Scott’s, that external acclaim is fleeting, but the inner joy of creation endures.

The lesson here is both liberating and challenging: measure success not by the standards of others, but by the integrity of your own labor. To chase applause is to chase a mirage, always receding. But to create something you love, something that carries your truth—this is to drink from a well that never runs dry. For the crowd may cheer today and forget tomorrow, but the satisfaction of honest work remains in the heart forever.

Practical action follows: in your own craft, your labor, your daily pursuits, ask yourself not only, Will others praise this? but also, Do I find joy in it? Do I stand by it with pride? Whether you are building, teaching, writing, or living, let your measure of success be your own fulfillment in the task. Work not only to be seen, but to see yourself more clearly in the work you have made.

So let the words of Ridley Scott endure as a banner for all creators and dreamers. A hit is not the roar of the multitude, nor the glitter of fame. A hit is when you, the maker, rejoice in what you have created. This is the fire that sustains the artist through failure and triumph alike. Let this wisdom guide you: love your work, and in loving it, you will already have succeeded, regardless of the world’s fickle applause.