Was it me that Botticelli imagined?

I never left France for Hollywood nor stashed my money in Switzerland.

I leave before being left. I decide.

It's the decomposition that gets me. You spend your whole life looking after your body. And then you rot away.

Only idiots refuse to change their minds.

I am astonished and surprised that someone could consider making a film about me without talking to me about it.

I am leaving the town to the invaders: increasingly numerous, mediocre, dirty, badly behaved, shameless tourists.