Artists can no more speak about their work, than plants can speak about horticulture.

Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life or death.

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.

There are too many souls of wood not to love those wooden characters who do indeed have a soul.

The smell of opium is the least stupid smell in the world.

Statues to great men are made of the stones thrown at them in their lifetime.

Stupidity is always astounding, no matter how often one encounters it.