Your Words Are My Food, Your Breath

Once The Curtain Is Raised, The Actor Is Ceases To Belong To Himself. He Belongs To His Character, To His Author, To His Public. He Must Do The Impossible To Identify Himself With The First, Not To Betray The Second, And Not To Disappoint The Third.

We Ought To Hate Very Rarely, As It Is Too Fatiguing; Remain Indifferent To A Great Deal, Forgive Often And Never Forget.

Slow Down? Rest? With All Eternity Before Me?

I Have, Thanks To My Travels, Added To My Stock All The Superstitions Of Other Countries. I Know Them All Now, And In Any Critical Moment Of My Life, They All Rise Up In Armed Legions For Or Against Me.

Art Is Not About Something, Art Is Something