Robert Duvall, the Oscar-winning actor whose seven-decade career produced some of the most iconic performances in American cinema, died Sunday at the age of 95. He passed away at home.

His wife, Luciana Duvall, announced the news in a statement posted Monday on social media.

"Yesterday we said goodbye to my beloved husband, cherished friend, and one of the greatest actors of our time."

She added that he "passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by love and comfort." No cause of death was given.

A Career Built on Craft, Not Flash

According to the Daily Caller, Duvall belonged to a generation of actors who understood something Hollywood has largely forgotten: the camera finds restraint more interesting than spectacle.

He could project menace, weariness, or quiet decency without ever begging for the spotlight. That range carried him across seven decades and earned him seven Academy Award nominations.

Millions knew him best as Tom Hagen, the Corleone family's unflappable consigliere in "The Godfather" and "The Godfather Part II." He made his big-screen debut years earlier as the reclusive Boo Radley in "To Kill a Mockingbird," a role with almost no dialogue that somehow left an indelible mark.

In Francis Ford Coppola's "Apocalypse Now," he played Lt. Col. Bill Kilgore, the surf-obsessed cavalry commander who delivered one of the most quoted lines in film history: "I love the smell of napalm in the morning."

But it was 1983's "Tender Mercies" that brought him his only Academy Award for Best Actor. In it, he played a broken-down country singer rebuilding his life.

The performance was quiet, disciplined, and completely devoid of the histrionics that typically win gold statues. The Academy recognized it anyway.

The Kind of Career They Don't Make Anymore

There is something worth noting about Duvall's place in American culture beyond his filmography. He was a working actor in the truest sense.

He didn't chase franchises or reinvent himself as a brand. He showed up, did the work, and let the performances accumulate into something permanent.

That approach feels almost countercultural now. In an era where celebrity is increasingly divorced from craft, where actors spend more time issuing political statements than inhabiting characters, Duvall's career stands as a quiet rebuke. He let the work speak. It spoke loudly enough.

Seven nominations. Seven decades. One of those rare careers where longevity and quality never parted company.

Robert Duvall was 95. The work endures.