Stupidity Is Always Astounding, No Matter How

The Poet Paul Éluard Says That To Understand My Film Version Of Beauty And The Beast, You Must Love Your Dog More Than Your Car.

I Want The Kind Of Readers Who Remain Children At Any Cost. I Can Tell Them At A Glance: Loyalty To That First Enchantment Guards Better Than Any Cosmetic; Than Any Diet, Against The Insults Of Age. But Alas For Such Readers, Who Would Huddle Safe And Sound In The Asylum Of Their Credulous Enchantment As If In The Womb-our Enervating Century Offends Them By Its Chaos, Its Fidgets Of Light And Space, The Host Of Its Excuses For Dividing , For Rending Oneself From Others And From Oneself.

You Are Always Concentrated On The Inner Thing. The Moment One Becomes Aware Of The Crowd, Performs For The Crowd, It Is Spectacle.

We Must Believe In Luck. For How Else Can We Explain The Success Of Those We Don't Like?

The Artist Is A Kind Of Prison From Which The Works Of Art Escape.