Enough Of Clouds, Waves, Aquariums, Water-sprites And

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.

The Poet Doesn't Invent. He Listens.

I'm Not Willing Just To Be Tolerated. That Wounds My Love Of Love And Of Liberty.

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

Everyone's Pet Is The Most Outstanding. This Begets Mutual Blindness.