A Prig Always Finds A Last Refuge

The Poet Never Asks For Admiration; He Wants To Be Believed.

Commissions Suit Me. They Set Limits. Jean Marais Dared Me To Write Play In Which He Would Not Speak In The First Act, Would Weep For Joy In The Second And In The Last Would Fall Backward Down A Flight Of Stairs.

When A Work Appears To Be Ahead Of Its Time, It Is Only The Time That Is Behind The Work.

Artists Can No More Speak About Their Work, Than Plants Can Speak About Horticulture.

We Only Serve As A Model For The Portrait Of Our Fame.