Truth is a hell of a big point with me. Now I exaggerate—always.

It's only intelligent to wish to look after yourself properly.

I adore artifice. I always have.

I think we live only through our dreams and our imagination.

I read everything! I would have read the phone book if you put it in front of me. I just read.

Exaggeration is my only reality.

All my life I’ve pursued the perfect red. I can never get painters to mix it for me. It’s exactly as if I’d said, ‘I want rococo with a spot of Gothic in it and a bit of Buddhist temple’—they have no idea what I’m talking about. About the best red is to copy the color of a child’s cap in any Renaissance portrait.